Artistic Lights
by GhirardelliFan
Summary: When Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey get a new case, Neal's personal life clashes horribly. Now, they must figure out who stole a rare painting while also dealing with the consequences of Neal's history coming to light. No slash. Complete!
1. Artistic Surprises

I promised at the end of "Snowball Fights" (my other fic.) that I'd write a multi-chapter story and have it completed before I posted chapter 1. Well, its here!

Chapter 1 Artistic Surprises

Neal pulled his overcoat off and smiled at the storm clouds outside. He ran his fingers through his slightly damp hair and grinned when he saw Peter's scowl. While Neal always came to work prepared for the worst, Peter had decided the chances of rain were too slight to bother bringing rain gear.

Peter initially scoffed when Neal had jumped into his car thirty minutes before, decked out for all kinds of weather. But within fifteen minutes the light gray clouds had burst and Peter was looking at a mile walk in the rain, with no umbrella, hat, or coat.

Silently, but with a small smile, Neal had handed his umbrella to Peter and pulled his hat down and his long coat tight around him before getting out of the car. The walk down the street to the FBI headquarters didn't seem too long since Neal shared his gear.

Now they were in the lobby, and Peter muttered a quiet thanks before turning to the elevator.

"So, what are the plans today? Heists, cons, or...more cold cases?" Neal shook his coat slightly and water sprayed the two of them.

"Hughes called me last night, it looks like we have a case. A private owner had his prized painting stolen. Its never been appraised, so we don't know the market value, but the insurance policy is quite substantial." Peter hit the button to the fifteenth floor, White Collar Division, and they waited until the doors closed.

"So we're looking at an inside job?" Neal opened the tiny notebook he always kept with him and flipped to the middle of it. Peter leaned over his shoulder and read some of his notes.

"I swear, if I find out you're taking notes for your own cons, I'll have you locked in the record room for a week."

Neal laughed. The elevator dinged as it slowly passed each floor, they just made it past the sixth. "Not at all. These are old notes I took...for fun....a few years ago. Mozzie brought them for me." Neal turned the notebook so Peter could read it.

_Ins. P. (?), m. s, one way: M-F, S/-Su, Picasso._

"You kept record of all your heists? Let me see that." Peter pulled Neal's notebook out of his hands and started flipping through it.

"Yeah right. You think I'd be dumb enough to bring a book like _that_ to the FBI?" Neal waited patiently as Peter flipped to the first page of the notebook. "Those are notes on how heists would be done. Like, note cards....so the details would come back when I read the general words. Its just a trick so I don't have to worry about forgetting anything."

Peter grumbled. "Everything's abbreviated. How am I supposed to read any of this?"

"_You_ are not supposed to read it." Neal took the notebook back and flipped to the page he had originally turned to. "See here? 'Ins. P. (?)' means insurance policy, 'm. s. means minimal security, 'one way' means owners away. So here, I would look first look at how much the owners received for insurance if the painting was stolen, then I looked to the security system to determine whether a theft were possible, and _then_ I checked to see if they were away Monday through Friday, ever Saturday, and its generally a given that if there is a family they'll be around Sunday."

"You keep notes on that? It seems so simple." Peter shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Grinning, Neal explained, "Its the order that's important. For a museum..." Neal turned to the third page and let Peter look at it while he quoted from memory, "...first the security system, from there look to hours of operation, public financial information, _than_ insurance policies."

"The order's important?"

"Only if you don't want to get caught after. Every operation has priorities, and if you get those mixed up, you get caught. I'm talking hypothetically, of course."

Peter grunted. "Well, I guess I hired you for those _hypotheticals_ anyway. So you're refreshing up?" Neal nodded but couldn't hold back his grin when the elevator opened.

"When I work a case here, I've learned to look for clues with the same direction. So starting with the insurance policy: was there one?"

Peter nodded, "There's three million riding on this painting, but we're already looking into an inside job. The family's financial records are clean and stable, and the owners have millions. So if its an inside job, the reason won't be as clear."

"Inside job theory is out on my books, then. There are other obscure reasons for wanting a painting stolen, but if the owners risk more by getting caught for insurance fraud than they might benefit from the policy, they probably won't have it done. Simple balancing test."

"All right, I'll put some interns on looking at the inside job theory, and we'll leave it at that. So the next item on your list is the security system?"

"Good memory." Neal laid his rain gear across the desk he had taken over a few weeks earlier. One day, after Peter and Neal had an argument, Neal had moved his few possessions downstairs to the main area. The partners felt like an old married couple for days after that, trying to make up, but Neal found himself liking the open space and lots of company and stayed there even after they started talking to each other again.

"But if they have more than a few million dollars, its a given that their security system is above standard. If not, we're looking at an inside job again, with one of the more obscure reasons. That should make the case more interesting." Neal smiled while Peter poured some coffee for the two.

"I'll have Jones look into it. Sounds like this case is getting more complicated."

"Not at all. Only if its an inside job. We're still looking at a straight forward theft. So next issue, when are the owners home?"

"They work pretty long hours, but there's always staff around the mansion. They had five staff hired on in the last four months. The owners had background checks done on all of them, everything is clean."

"But they won't be 'loyal' employees yet. If they were paid enough, they'd be happy enough to provide schedules on the staff and owners. Which leaves us to the last question: who's the artist?"

"Why does that matter?" Peter unlocked his office door and they stepped in. Neal noticed the conference room next door held several people, including Hughes who was standing by a whiteboard.

"I want to know if I've heard of him or her. You say the painting hasn't been appraised, but is insured for three million, and—excluding an outside job—that means somebody must have reason to want the painting enough to steal it. So the artist is either long dead, recently dead, or well-known." Neal sat in Peter's extra chair and leaned back.

"The name is Jean Paul Rinolli." Peter answered as he turned to his computer, and without looking at Neal, he went on. "We don't know much about him, except that he's the youngest child of the family. The oldest brother is the one who owns the painting, and he says there are only ten of them out. Eight of those are owned by the family."

When Neal didn't say anything, Peter looked up and started. Neal looked like a statue, completely frozen. Neal's eyes were stuck wide and his left hand rested his mouth.

"Neal? Are you all right?" Peter quickly got up and moved to Neal's side, noting that Neal's breathing was the only thing that suggested he was really alive. The breathing grew harsher as the seconds rolled by.

Peter immediately connected the dots. Neal must have some connection to the artist, and the fear of being caught, now, for a previous crime must have overpowered him.

"Its all right. If you admit to everything now, the family may not even press charges." Peter grimaced when Neal didn't move. "Did you steal the painting already, Neal? I know how you like to leave forgeries in place, and sometimes owners don't find out about their loss for years."

Neal's hand moved down and he shifted in his chair. "Are they here?"

"Just the brother. Look, it might be a good thing if the new thief took your forgery, rather than the real painting. All we have to do is get the real painting back, catch the second thief, and we'll make amends real fast." Peter rubbed Neal's forearm lightly, since he still looked overly distressed.

"What are you talking about?" Neal gave Peter a confused look and Peter hid his disappointment. So Neal wouldn't admit to the crime, meaning that when they got the forged painting back and attempted to verify it, Neal would get caught anyways.

It would be so much easier if Neal just admitted to his guilt.

"You made that painting, didn't you?" The distressed look returned to Neal's face and he shuddered, then turned to look out the windows to the rest of White Collar division.

"How do you know that?"

"Educated guess." Relief flooded Peter, because it looked like Neal was confessing, for perhaps the first time in his life.

"Where's Anthony?" Neal stood slowly and glanced in the direction of the conference rooms.

"Who?" The strange twists were starting to grate on Peter, he felt like he was two steps behind in this conversation.

"The oldest brother, you say he's here?"

"Oh, conference room." Peter took Neal by the elbow and began lightly tugging him toward the adjoining door. He took the fact that Neal knew the name of the oldest brother as confirmation of the heist. "Come on, Hughes told me to come in after I've briefed you on the case. I didn't realize you'd be the original culprit, but we might as well get this done with.

Neal dragged his heals but Peter just gripped him tight enough to bruise and pulled harder. "Peter, you don't understand, its not like that at all."

"Then explain yourself to everyone in there." Peter switched his grip to his left hand and opened the door with his right. Neal immediately quieted and began shaking his head at Peter violently, eyes so wide Peter almost felt sorry.

Peter pulled and Neal came without struggle, not wanting to be seen as fighting with Peter at this point.

The moment Neal walked inside he immediately searched the faces for one that would be too familiar. His stomach clenched as he passed over Hughes's confused face and covered the rest of the room until he made it to the person sitting only three feet away.

Anthony Rinolli.

Anthony's face mirrored Neal's in shock, but there was something more that Peter immediately realized. While Neal seemed more than a little afraid, unable to hide it with his usual charm, Anthony expressed traces of joy and longing.

"Hello Anthony." Neal spoke barely above a whisper and Peter immediately rested his hand on Neal's shoulder blade. Offering the little comfort he could, Neal would have to work the rest out on his own.

Anthony Rinolli stood up slowly and closed the small distance in two steps. He reached to Neal and, ignoring Neal's flinch, pulled him into a tight hug.

"Jean Paul? Oh god, its Jean Paul."

**A/N: **So, I want to get some reviews in between chapters. I don't want to post them all at once, and not here anything about them. Plus, I might be changing the chapters up a little bit depending on the season finale.

I figure, I'll immediately update after **ten reviews**, or I'll wait a week before posting my next chapter. That way, my readers will decide the pace of the chapter updates!

P.S. I totally think Jones is going to die in the season finale. Is that paranoid, pitiful, or totally sad? Its just my theory, but I'm dreading the season finale because I really don't want it to happen. Pray that I'm wrong!


	2. Neal's Story Part 1

Well thanks for all the reviews! Honestly, I sort of thought it would take me a week to get those ten reviews, so it kind of came as a shock this morning. I got a little bit of advice through my reviews about holding chapters hostage, and I think I'll do it a little bit different for this next chapter so I don't feel like I'm coercing you guys (see my A/N at the bottom for more info).

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope it comes as a surprise!

Chapter 2 Neal's story: Part 1

Peter froze in shock as he watched Anthony Rinolli hug an unwilling Neal tightly. If Peter wasn't mistaken, it even looked like Rinolli might be shedding a few tears.

Rinolli was a large man. He stood a full head taller than Neal and weighed probably a hundred pounds more, all of it being thick muscle. His dark hair was cropped close to his head revealing his large forehead and slightly receding hairline. He had large brown eyes set deep in his face.

After a full minute of Rinolli holding Neal tightly, with everybody else in the room in a state of shocked confusion, Rinolli pulled away but kept his hands clutching Neal's upper arms.

"Jean Paul?" Rinolli's wet eyes took Neal in and Neal offered a weak smile, trying to collect himself again.

"Hey" was all Neal could say, and then Rinolli pulled him into a second hug. Neal's head bowed slightly as he tried to calm his shaking body, fear threatening to take over.

"What's going on here?" Hughes had finally gotten his voice back and desperately tried to regain control, as Neal silently pleaded somebody would.

Rinolli stepped back, dropping his left hand from Neal, but kept his right hand in a tight grip directly above Neal's elbow.

Neal leaned away unconsciously and Peter stepped between them mercifully. In a smooth motion, Peter grabbed Neal around the bicep and pushed him toward Hughes, to the other side of the room.

Rinolli reluctantly released his grasp and, while watching Neal closely, sat down in his chair. Peter guided Neal to one of the two remaining open chairs and waited until Neal sat down before taking his own seat.

"What's going on here?" Hughes repeated and Neal looked up. The small distance and little time seemed to help him collect himself enough to speak.

"When I was seventeen I legally changed by name to Neal Caffrey. I used to be Jean Paul Rinolli, Anthony Rinolli's younger brother." Neal kept his eyes specifically diverted from Anthony Rinolli, "I left home before my senior year of high school, after I made the ten paintings we were just talking about."

Rinolli laughed skeptically. "That's putting it mildly. The way we saw it, Jean Paul spent the entire summer with his short, weirdo, friend, painting little pictures. Right before school starts: he disappears. We looked everywhere for him, but didn't find a trace. Yeah right, you changed your name legally, we would have found that."

"I may have destroyed all other records of Jean Paul Rinolli 'accidentally;' soon after I _legally_ changed my name to Neal Caffrey and gave myself a history. But I can assure you, that was done legally. I'm Neal Caffrey now." Neal's voice grew louder as he gained a shred of confidence.

The "case" seemed like a thing of the past after Peter heard all this. He tried not to choke on his own tongue when things became a little clearer. "So you actually made the painting that was stolen? But you didn't steal it, and you didn't forge it either."

Neal chuckled weakly. "Yeah, although your earlier guess makes more sense, doesn't it?"

Peter nodded and nudged Neal's shoulder gently with a fist. "This feels better though, I really didn't want to arrest you again."

Neal didn't look so sure this was better at all. For the first time since Peter pulled him across the room he looked back at Rinolli. "You didn't know who I was?"

"Not at all! We've been looking for you for ten years! You're an FBI agent?" Rinolli chuckled, "That's ironic."

"He's our consultant." Hughes jumped in, unwilling to let anyone think, for even a moment, that Neal Caffrey was an _agent_ for the FBI.

Neal sighed. Things were looking worse and worse. Over the last few months he had felt certain his "family" knew he had become Neal Caffrey. His pictures had been in the paper too much to have believed otherwise. Even in prison he had come to the conclusion that they must have figured it out, his conviction had resulted in some publicity that likely would have made it to his "family" if they were still searching for hm.

And so he had assumed they stopped caring about finding him and he had even hoped they decided to let him live his life as _he_ wanted, and not how they saw fit. But Rinolli's statement brought back ten years worth of fear, and Neal wished he could disappear overnight, the way he used to.

Peter saw the look in Neal's eye and turned back to Rinolli, who's eyes hadn't left Neal. For some reason Rinolli triggered a protective instinct in Peter and made him want to block Neal from Rinolli's view.

"Consultant? How does that work?" Rinolli leaned forward on the table and for the first time took his eyes off Neal to glance between Hughes and Peter.

"It doesn't matter." Neal spoke up first, silently pleading that Hughes would not say anything else. "You're here about a stolen painting, right? We have a few questions to ask, and then I'm sure we'll solve the case from there. Peter and I were just talking, and we have some ideas already."

"I'm not ready to drop this issue yet, Caffrey." Hughes noted, "But maybe now isn't the time, we'll be having a meeting later."

Rinolli answered the few questions Peter asked, which were only very vague because the few questions Peter had were now obsolete in light of Neal's news. Neal was eerily quiet and didn't speak up until the very end, even though Rinolli directed all of his answers to Neal.

When the preliminary questioning was over, they all stood up to leave and Rinolli shook hands with every agent until he made his way to Neal. Neal held his hand out tentatively to shake it and Rinolli took it with both hands.

"Our father will be very excited to hear that you're right here in New York, Jean Paul." Rinolli didn't let go for a second too long and Neal jerked his hand away.

"I'm not Jean Paul anymore. I'm Neal Caffrey," Neal's voice lowered considerably, "and please don't tell Rolando, Anthony. It doesn't matter anymore, I'm not coming back."

"We'll let _Dad_ decide that for himself, now won't we?" Rinolli put a companionable arm around Neal and walked to the door, Peter stayed close by and could just barely hear what Rinolli was saying. "You know, it'll be interesting to find out _why_ we didn't find you earlier, with you being in New York and all. How could those private detectives miss you with how much we're paying them? I guess its something to look into. We won't be making a scene here, but don't think this is over."

Rinolli said all this with a certain amount of kindness in his voice, but the message was clear. Peter's instincts flared up at the rapid shift of moods: from long-lost brotherhood to threatening suggestions. Peter thanked Rinolli and pointed him to the door. Peter turned to Neal, who was trying (and failing) to hide his misery. "Now you're going to tell me what's going on."

…

"I thought they knew. After my picture was on the front page of the newspaper, I assumed I'd be getting a call from them...or something. When I didn't, I thought they were leaving me alone." Neal looked into Peter's eyes as he said this, and his voice was clear and steady.

Peter could feel Neal's distress, if not hear it in his voice. The fact that Neal started the conversation with this statement spoke volumes to Peter. Neal had believed his family had become indifferent to him, and obviously that had been a blessing in Neal's eyes: and he just received a shock enough to derail him temporarily. Peter planned to use that.

"Neal, I need you to tell me the truth now, from your side of it. From the beginning."

Neal took a deep breath. "Right. My family was Italian, but mostly I grew up in New York. They moved here when I was ten years old."

Peter hadn't meant _that_ far in the beginning. But usually Neal Caffrey didn't say anything unless it became important later, so he let it go. He had a feeling he was about to learn more from his consultant tonight then he had in the three years chasing him.

"Rolando Rinolli met and married Patricia White, a year after we moved here. My real mother died in childbirth, with me. Patricia was amazing, but she...had a strong personality. Rolando didn't like that. He always liked being in control, and so he always needed to be in control."

"One night, when I was sixteen, Patricia and Rolando got into a fight, everybody could hear it. He was yelling at her for deciding to go back to school, something he didn't believe women should worry about. She started calling him names, and then I heard gunshots. Several of them."

Neal's voice broke and he stood up fast. The chair toppled backward as he tried to extricate himself from the table. Immediately he apologized and placed the chair back in its place. As he made it to the door, he muttered a quiet "excuse me."

Hughes nodded, "Let's take a fifteen minute coffee break. Burke, stay with him."

Peter followed Neal down fifteen flights of stairs until he made it outside. From there Neal walked quickly in the rain, which swamped them like buckets of water. Every now and then he'd slow and turn his face to the sky, letting the cold water ease the heat that burned within him. He stopped walking about five minutes later and just stood there, waiting for Peter.

"I'm sorry." He spoke softly when Peter nearly caught up to him.

Peter started in surprise and walked up to Neal. "What are you sorry for?"

"That was awfully rude, wasn't it?" Neal was thoroughly soaked now, his hair plastered to his forehead and his jacket weighed down against him. Peter could feel a chill set in, neither of the two had remembered to bring Neal's gear with them, something Peter blamed only himself for at this point.

"You're too polite, Caffrey. I'm pretty sure Hughes isn't offended, and I know I'm not." Peter reached out and grabbed Neal's arm, tugging it gently until Neal turned back toward FBI headquarters. Peter finally coaxed Neal inside. "Let's get you some coffee and dry clothes."

The elevator up went by fast, Neal was shaking slightly, but Peter knew it wasn't from the cold. When they reached the fifteenth floor, White Collar Division was in an uproar. Obviously the agents who hadn't attended the meeting just heard of the surprise. They looked at Neal with interest, and a little pity, in their eyes.

Peter had an extra pair of clothes in his office that he always left in case of an emergency, but he hoped to use those himself now. He was soaked to the bone and he knew somebody else would be willing to share their things with Neal.

"Jones, do you have an extra pair of clothes here? Something Neal could borrow for the rest of today?"

Jones grabbed a bag from the bottom drawer of his desk and handed it over to Peter. "Is he going to be okay? It seemed awfully odd in there when his brother turned up."

"Yeah, he'll be fine. We're getting the full story now." Peter took Neal to the bathroom to change and stood outside until Neal came out. Jones had packed sweats and a Red Socks sweatshirt, both of which drowned Neal. His hair had also started to curl a little, giving him the look of a young child right before bedtime.

"Coffee next." Peter poured two cups of coffee before taking Neal upstairs to the conference room again. Hughes was already waiting, but Peter held up a hand. "I'm going to get changed first, and then we'll hear the rest of the story."

Neal looked at Peter's wet suit for a second, then looked down at himself in confusion, then shock. "_What _am I wearing?"

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Peter grinned, "Not your usual style, Caffrey? But they fit so well."

Neal held the sweater out, a foot from his chest and looked at it with horror. "Its not that...I'm a Yankees fan."

**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed the chapter. So about the reviews, I'm grateful for all of your reviews, and I look forward to hearing more. But like I said above, I don't want to be holding the chapters hostage for them.

My thinking was this: as long as I guarantee to all of you that the chapters would come out regardless of whether you reviewed, the fast update would end up more of a reward for your kindness. I realize that might not be the case.

So here's my proposition: how about I update after three days, regardless of reviews. That way things will be consistent, and everybody will know when to expect the next chapter, including me.

I still hope I'll get lots of feedback, good or bad, but I like considering myself a dignified writer, so I'm going to do this completely legit.

Best wishes!


	3. Neal's Story Part 2

Chapter 3 Neal's story, Part 2

Peter changed, passed a few jokes with Jones about the Yankees, and finally made it back to Neal's side. Hughes had lost his "pity" look, and now waited for Neal to begin talking again. It had been forty-five minutes since Neal walked out of the conference room, and Hughes wanted to move on.

Neal began, for the second time, slowly. "When I ran to Patricia's room, Rolando was standing there, reloading his gun. She was still alive at that time, and somehow she was conscious too, but she couldn't speak, or breath for that matter."

"I remember rushing to her side and trying to talk with her, but blood had filled her mouth. The others were there, standing at the doorway, but nobody else would help."

"She was already dying, but when Rolando finished loading the gun, he shot her until it emptied again."

Neal's voice cracked for a second, but he pressed on. "I remember trying to stop him, and he knocked me down. I found myself laying on the ground in her blood, and I was afraid he would kill me to."

Peter's eyes widened as Neal told his story. Things seemed to get worse and worse with each passing moment, and Neal's aversion to guns became infinitely clear. "Everything happened so fast from there, Anthony took me out of the room and had me take a shower. He got out my other pair of pajamas and when I was done, my old pair had disappeared."

Neal's eyes ghosted over as he relived the eleven year old experiences. He remembered standing in the shower and watching the blood wash away. He had fallen into shock, and didn't notice the steaming shower water burning his skin. It ached for weeks after, and only echoed reminders of that night.

"They cleaned up the mess in the room, and told me never to speak of it. When the police arrived two days later, everything pointed to Patricia leaving on her own volition. As they were leaving, I spoke to one of them, and he told me to file a report. I tried to tell them Rolando had done it, but they actually told me to shut up and file the report properly."

Neal laughed, but there was no amusement. "That police officer asked a sixteen-year-old to file a report on his father for a murder. No questions asked, nor help provided. I found out later that police officer was terminated and then convicted for taking bribes but I've never held the same respect for law enforcement since."

Hughes put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. "What did you do from there?"

"I filed the report, and when the same police officer came to investigate, Rolando locked me in my room and threatened to kill me if I said a word." Peter winced, no wonder Neal Caffrey mocked law enforcement and chafed when asked to file reports or follow procedure, he had no reason to respect it.

Peter planned to change that soon.

"I was locked up in that room for two weeks, I could only leave when Rolando needed to keep up appearances. At some point the General Attorney's office decided to prosecute Rolando for murder. They had some evidence, like traces of blood left in the carpet, but not enough to prove to the jury 'beyond reasonable doubt.'" Neal rolled his eyes at this. "I know I shouldn't say anything about them, but I've never understood why they didn't wait for more evidence before prosecuting. After the jury returned a 'not guilty' verdict, Rolando got off completely. He's precluded from being tried for that murder again."

"Not entirely, he still has witness tampering, evidence tampering, and even child abuse to account for." Hughes interjected, "Even now, you can still do something about it."

"Ha." Neal sullenly mocked, "Its my word against all of theirs. I call that plenty of reasonable doubt, I'm sure the defense attorney would have love to have me be the sole witness on the stand." Peter had to agree with this, a defense attorney would rip Neal Caffrey apart for his felony record. He'd bring up Neal's prior conviction and the jury would turn a blind eye to everything Neal said after that.

Hughes shook his head in agreement. "So from there?"

"I spent another year with my family, trying to earn their trust back. I had a bodyguard with me all the time for the next nine months. During summer school I met Mozzie." Neal turned to Peter and smiled ruefully. "He's the best friend somebody could have. He stuck by me even when he knew how dangerous it would get to stay around. Rolando immediately hated him, of course. Rolando wanted me to be a cultured, artistic, and charming attorney."

Both Peter and Hughes stifled a chuckle, the very mention of Neal Caffrey being an attorney seemed ludicrous. Oh, he could act the part, but he would never be able to work in an office day in and day out.

Neal smiled at them, understanding exactly what they were thinking. "Mozzie laid out the plan. Two days before school started, I would run away. Patricia had told me about a stash of cash she kept hidden, which makes me think she probably knew something might happen, and Moz and I planned to take the cash and run to Europe."

Neal's voice lowered as a hint of long-ago excitement came back into his voice. "We were both scared, but I knew I couldn't stay around any longer, and Moz twitched for excitement back then. He wanted to see the world, so we planned all summer long."

"But when did you change your name?" Peter grew a little excited himself, the story seemed to reach its climax, and he wanted to know that everything had turned out right, at least temporarily.

"On my seventeenth birthday. Three weeks before we planned to run. Mozzie helped me, he's a real computer genius." Neal smiled at the memory. "We actually did do it legally, and then illegally destroyed everything."

"After we finished filling out the form electronically, they gave me my new 'birth certificate,' social security number, the works." Neal gave Peter and Hughes a quick glance, and then continued. "That night, Mozzie and I broke in and erased the link that changed Jean Paul to Neal Caffrey. According to the systems, Neal Caffrey had next to the same history as Jean Paul, but had _always_ been Neal Caffrey."

Neal grew wistful. "Ten years ago, computers were much easier to break into, you know that? The trick is to stay ahead of the curve. When a new program comes out, I always make sure I know its flaws before I _need_ to know the flaws. Its become much more difficult, now. But really that's irrelevant, because technically, I'm Neal Caffrey now."

"Wow, that is easily the most _illegal_ way of doing something legal that I've ever seen. Nobody in your family grew suspicious?"

"Nope, nada. I was very careful, and they had stopped looking into my activities a while back. They were all extremely busy, and I erased all traces of myself without them figuring anything out." Neal grimaced. "During that time I made the ten paintings. The only paintings I have originally done, actually. I made them for my closest friends in summer school, because I knew I'd never see them again. Honestly, I don't know how Anthony got a hold of even one of them."

"And from there?"

"Well, the night before we ran away I tried to buy the plane tickets, but nobody would let two seventeen year-old boys buy a plane ticket on their own. So, I broke into the databases again and added five years to my age."

"You did _what_?" Peter exclaimed. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven." Neal answered. "They were willing to let people eighteen and older buy plane tickets, and twenty-one year old students could pay with cash."

"I've always looked older than I really am, so it worked out." Neal bit his lip. "Moz didn't look nearly old enough to even be seventeen, he used to look so much younger, so he came as my little brother. Because I became twenty-two, I became the legal guardian for the 'trip.' Funnest time _ever._"

Peter couldn't help but cut in to the story. "I always thought you looked too young. Mozzie seems older then you now, but I always thought you might be lying about your age. Now I know I'm right."

"Does it matter at all? I still feel like I'm thirty-two, it doesn't make a difference or anything."

"It does to me! When I first started chasing you, you were only nineteen! Of all the times I saw you buy alcohol and go to bars, I could have arrested you on any one of those." Peter threw his hands up in the air as if to say "I give up."

"It makes a pretty big difference to the justice system as well, Caffrey. We don't like sending kids to prison for the maximum penalty when there's so much to be done with them." Hughes added roughly. He looked annoyed, and Neal knew he was thinking of his youngest son, who was only twenty-two.

"Nah, that was probably the best thing that could happen. Believe it or not, I sort of wanted to be caught, I could never find the limit to what I could do and that scared me to death." Neal gave himself a self-depreciating grin.

"So I spent eighteen months jumping from country to country, usually doing something I can't tell you about in this conversation...." Peter smacked Neal on the back of the head and Neal straightened his overlarge sweatshirt. "Finally, I ended up in Japan, and somehow it made me realize I wanted to go to Italy. I hadn't been there yet because I was afraid of meeting any family, but I caved a little and went. Mozzie joined up with me again, we had split for a while after Spain. And then I met Kate."

"You met Kate in Italy? Don't answer that now, I'm sure that's a different story, and let's stick to this one. How did you end up in New York?"

"Kate. She was from New York, its where her family is as well. Talk about a coincidence, right?"

"And you'd do anything she asked." Peter regretted saying this almost immediately. Nobody talked about Kate to Neal unless they had to, the subject was taboo in the office. Peter didn't coddle Neal about the topic, but he was generally still careful.

Neal eyes took on a faraway look, as they always did when he thought of his lost love, "I looked into my family, and found out they had moved."

"But there were still detectives hired to find you."

"Yeah, but that's where the money Patricia had left me went. I contacted the lead detective and offered him double what my family was paying if he only pretended to look for me, but never gave Rolando any information." Neal kicked back in his chair, "So Anthony was right, there's a pretty 'strange' reason why the detectives hadn't figured anything out yet. What I don't understand is how they didn't figure it out on their own, some divine intervention must be on my side, or something. At least it was, maybe not anymore."

"So that's the story. Six months after I made it to New York, you were on my trail. And you know the rest. Any questions?" He asked calmly like he was teaching a class.

"Just a few right now. Neal, is your father part of an organized crime syndicate? Is he part of the mafia?"

"No." Neal shook his head firmly. "He would never let himself get tied down like that, he likes being the one in control. In fact, he even dislikes being on the wrong side of the law."

"All right, that'll help us, at least. Next question, do you have any reason to believe he might be a danger to you?"

Neal looked at Peter and Hughes in the eyes. "That depends on what you mean. Will he kill me? Probably not, because he wouldn't take the risk of being a suspect in public view. But he's a possessive, controlling, filthy rich business man who was embarrassed by my disappearance. So I do know that he'll make me pay for running, in one way or another."

…..

**A/N**: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Things are going to pick up from here, now that you have Neal's background story and all. So its a nope to the Mafia. Honestly, I try to avoid going that direction because there's really no way out from there.

Two things: (1) I hope you all enjoyed the season finale, it definitely went a different direction then I thought.

(2) Am I allowed to challenge somebody to write a fanfiction? I want a story that takes place after "Out of the Box" and is told from somebody else's perspective. I mean not Peter or Neal or Elizabeth. And it can't be too depressing either...more of a friendship fic.

Somebody should take on the challenge, they'd be my best friend!


	4. Investigation Part 1

Chapter 4: Investigation Part 1

Peter decided to get back to El for the rest of the night. It had grown dark when Hughes had finally stopped questioning Neal, and Peter was beat.

Jones happily took an assignment as Neal's temporary bodyguard., since nobody knew what to expect after Neal's warnings. The two were already planning on visiting China Town that night for some dumplings, and Jones expressed excitement about finally seeing Neal Caffrey in his natural habitat. "I want to see that famous apartment, and I'm dying to see how he acts around the ladies. There must be some secret to his charm." He said, before leaving Peter's office to meet with Neal.

"We need to talk to Mozzie first. He'll be at Junes, so I'll get to change into something a little more dignified." Neal joked with Jones.

"I don't know what your talking about. The Red Sox are the epitome of class." Jones held his left hand to his heart and started quoting some gibberish about Babe Ruth. Neal looked down at what he was wearing and frowned, wishing he hadn't.

The sweatpants were rolled up just enough to make him look like a complete nerd. It wasn't so much the size, but the color. In a moment of insanity, Jones must have decided that dark green sweatpants would look good with a bright red sweatshirt. Neal tried to keep the heat from his face as he put his classy overcoat on and the two walked to Jones' car.

They picked up Moz, where Neal explained what happened, and then left for China Town. Mozzie kept looking behind him until Jones put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm keeping an eye on things, and I doubt they'll hurt you in public."

"I'm not worried about me." Mozzie muttered, "They couldn't care less about me, but I don't think for a second they've stopped looking for Neal."

…

Jones and Neal arrived in the office early the next day. Jones looked like he had been on ecstasy and every once in a while a wide grin would cross his face. He went to Peter's office the moment he reached a dead end in his case. "I got six phone numbers last night, just by having Caffrey at the same table, warming all the girls up. Do you realize how many 'six' is? Six. At different times, too. I guess he's a frequent guest at the little bar down the street. It would be way too expensive for me to frequent, but it was so worth it last night."

Jones sat in the extra chair Neal usually used, "And these girls were hot, Peter. I mean _gorgeous._ Can I have Neal as my partner for now on? You don't use him that much, do you?"

Peter couldn't decide whether to smile or scowl. He tried to do both, and he ended up momentarily looking like Clint Eastwood. "I believe we have better uses for Caffrey. Although I'm sure if you talk to him, he'd happily go clubbing with you."

Peter knew Neal well enough to deduct that clubbing wasn't his thing, but he wasn't about to tell Jones. Peter wanted Neal with somebody who would be a good example. Maybe Jones' influence would help. Scheming, Peter looked back to his file. Jones would be a better example than Mozzie would be, even if Mozzie had become a shred more respectable in Peter's eyes after Neal's story yesterday.

About a half hour later, Neal came in. "Wow, Jones has stamina." Peter looked at the dark circles under Neal's eyes in concern. "I swear, he could go all night and never get tired."

"But you need your beauty sleep."

Neal stifled a yawn, "Yes, actually. I like nine hours of sleep when I can get it. That way, I won't have to worry about any emergencies the next night."

"That's the odd thing about you, Neal. You seem like the type of guy who would happily get his sleep during the day, over his paperwork."

"I like the daytime. Its when all the real fun happens." Neal sat in his chair and pulled Peter's case toward him.

They worked on the case until lunch. Neal read it objectively and they already had a few theories. "We need to go to Anthony's house and look into how he got this painting. Then I want to talk to Lindsay Loraine, the girl I gave it to. It would be interesting to know why she gave it away."

Neal pulled out a picture of his painting and flushed. Each of the ten paintings were associated with light, in some way or another. This one featured moonlight, and it was his least favorite. It was a dark painting, only shadows of trees and mountains were painted in. The moonlight turned everything it touched a silvery color, but it left the viewer wondering what hid beneath the shadows of the forest.

"Are you too close to this case, Neal?" Peter asked as they left for lunch. "We don't need you on this one, and nobody wants you in a situation where you're uncomfortable."

Neal laughed heartily. "You think working with the FBI is comfortable, Peter? How many times have I had a gun pointed at me?"

"You know what I mean."

…

There were some times when Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke clashed. Driving was one of them. Peter drove like he owned the road, and it drove Neal nuts. And Neal wasn't the only one it drove nuts, three out of the five cars that passed them honked...repeatedly.

Neal slouched in the car, trying to hide his face from the cars as they passed him. "Use your signal when you change lanes, Peter, I'm begging you."

Peter looked directly at the road, a huge scowl pasted on his face. "I did have my blinker on, Caffrey, its not my fault they weren't paying attention. Now get up. Don't act all embarrassed, as if you're some saint."

"You turned your blinker on _as_ you were changing lanes, Peter. Did you miss driver's ed. in high school?"

"Home schooled."

"That explains so much."

….

They arrived at Anthony Rinolli's house at two. Neal had quieted and Peter considered turning around to drop Neal off. But Neal was adamant about looking at the security system himself since the common theories had gone out the window when he realized the painting was his, and now he wanted to look at the techniques used to steal the painting to confirm another theory.

Rinolli immediately let them in. He first tried to give Neal a hug, which Neal sidestepped, "Jean Paul, its good to see you. Father says he'll be here tomorrow, we're planning a dinner. You'll be there, right?"

"I go by Neal Caffrey now, Anthony. We're just here to investigate." Neal stepped out of Anthony's way and walked through the grand entrance. "Where did you keep it?"

Rinolli led them to a study. It was cozy, but the missing painting was evident. The large off-white wall was empty except for the remnants of the security system. Two wires were obviously cut, and there were dents in the walls as if tools had been used.

"Its definitely a professional. See how these two wires were cut? When these systems are installed, these two wires are implanted into the walls where they can't be seen by the naked eye." Neal held up one of the wires and motioned to Peter, completely ignoring Rinolli. "If any other wire is cut, the alarms sound. These are default wires that are generally triggered only when the password is turned off. By cutting them, the entire system shut itself down."

"International art thief. Convicted of bond forgery, sentenced to do four years of prison time, four and a half years ago." Rinolli spoke up, and Neal gave Peter a look of exacerbation. "You tried to escape, and you were sent back."

"And the FBI let me out as a consultant. Good job Googling me." Neal muttered sarcastically.

"Yes, they let you out. But they put a tracker on you, which is an excellent idea if I do say so myself. I believe Rolando is considering the idea."

"Are you threatening my consultant?" Peter growled. "Because that sounds like a threat. He doesn't want to see you more than he has to. Anyways, we trust him enough now, we don't ask for a tracker anymore."

Which wasn't exactly true. They trusted Neal enough to keep him hired on as a consultant, but many agents wished Fowler had never interfered and dropped all of Neal's charges for escaping prison.

"He hasn't said no to dinner yet." Neal had been looking at the keypad on the security system, but turned back to Rinolli.

"I'm sorry, but I won't be able to go. Not because I can't, Anthony, but because I _really_ don't want to." Neal turned to Peter. "I have some theories, but I need to meet some old contacts, and talk to the friend I mentioned earlier."

"We'd like Agent Burke to come along to dinner as well, and with some time we'll fix your problem with 'not wanting to.'" Peter took Neal's arm and led him away, not liking the flash of fear that crossed his young consultant's face.

As they were walking out the door, Neal turned back to Rinolli, who had followed like a perfect host. "I've been wondering, where did you get the paintings?"

"We bought them off your friends. Paid a pretty penny to get them to sell, but after being given some time they were willing to negotiate. We thought they might have clues as to where you were. But we didn't find anything, so we split them up and took our favorites."

"But you only have eight of them, who didn't sell?"

"I don't recall, give me some time to think about it, and I'll get back to you."

…

"I'm sorry to say this about a member of your family, Neal, but for some reason I find Anthony Rinolli creepy. I don't get it, he seems just fine."

Neal laughed. "He's like a mild version of Rolando Rinolli. Don't let his outward act fool you, Peter. They all seem like really nice people, very likeable...until they want something you don't want to give. They'll never lose their cool facade, and their real intentions will sneak up on you when you least expect it."

Neal sighed. "I remember it being different with Anthony, though. He and Annabelle were pretty cool; in fact, I knew I'd miss them when I left."

"But you still seem nervous around him."

"Because I can see Rolando in him, now. And he's made it obvious which side he's on." Neal looked at the well-manicured lawn of the mansion his brother lived in. "He's good at hiding his true feelings, and I can't tell if he's actually glad to see me or just happy to get on Rolando's good side."

"Sounds like somebody I know. Somebody very _related_ to them." Peter hinted as they walked to the car. Neal blanched, and refused to meet his eyes.

"I guess its in my genes, huh?" Neal's voice caught when he said this. Peter immediately regretted his previous words, and cursed his constant lack of tact.

"I didn't mean it like that. I was rude, and I'm sorry."

Neal smiled easily, not even having to forgive him.

"Try not to get us killed on the way back. We've got to find Lindsey Loraine."

…..

**A/N**: Hope you liked the chapter. I had to take out everything that mentioned Neal's tracker. I'm betting they'll leave it off for the second season, so I've been editing my story quite a bit.

Please review, they always make my day! Thanks for reading.


	5. Investigation Part 2

Chapter 5: Investigation Part 2

"Jones found Lindsey Loraine. She lives in Rhode Island. We made an appointment with her at noon, so are you ready for a long drive?" Peter smirked at Neal's wince. The beautiful thing about Neal was that he showed surprising resilience, even when it was only two days after seeing a feared family member. It very well might have been one of the most difficult times of his life, but when he was away from Rinolli, he acted like everything was normal.

"Yes, let me just finish some of this paperwork and we can get going." Neal said while he shuffled to the back of a stack of papers, where he filled out a lengthy description of Rinolli's security system. He loved these sections, where he could wrestle with his brain, trying to remember model details he refused to write down at the crime scenes.

Peter looked at his young consultant as he scribbled the details. Years ago, when Peter first arrested Neal Caffrey, the conman had been figuratively dragged through the mud for days after his initial arrest. Peter knew Caffrey had been placed in seclusion for two days, interrogated for six hours in the middle of the night, and kept awake for thirty-six; all before he was allowed the time to place a call for his attorney.

Yet when Peter visited him a week after his arrest, knowing what the young man had been through, all he saw was a comical smile and cheerful nod. Do to Peter's prejudice, it had taken him some time to notice the dark circles that had developed under Neal's eyes, the slight slump of the shoulders resulting from sheer exhaustion, and finally the tremor in Neal's hands when he signed a statement Peter had provided.

Now Peter saw it all immediately. Nearly five years ago he found some satisfaction in seeing through the conman's facade, now he felt a stronger desire to comfort the young man.

"I'm finished. Let me go get some coffee for the road and I'll meet you downstairs." Peter consented and Neal put the papers away.

Not finished with his observations, Peter watched Neal as he left to grab some coffee from the break room. Several agents called out to him to get them some coffee too and Peter smiled in amusement. Ever since Neal came to the FBI, one of the coffee pots in the break room became magically amazing. Peter knew Neal combined some of the different flavors and creams to create a thick and smooth blend, and he also knew that was why the special coffee pot emptied the fastest.

When Neal came back from the break room ten minutes later, he was juggling eight coffees stacked in his two hands. A wide grin was pasted on his face as he gracefully moved toward his desk. The fun lasted until Jones jumped up and grabbed four of coffees from him, making the rest of the balancing act too easy.

Neal handed two of the coffees to the Cruz and McConnell, one to Peter and than took a large swallow from his own. "I'm ready, let's go."

…

They knocked on the door of a small apartment in Rhode Island a little after one. After the four hour drive (Peter was not only a scary driver but also a slow one), they were already an hour late for their meeting. Peter was annoyed with Neal for wanting to meet Lindsey Loraine about the painting in person, and Neal couldn't believe Peter had chosen to drive five miles _below_ the speed limit the entire way.

A dark haired woman came to the door and opened it a crack, peering out at the two for a long minute before speaking. "You're the agents from the FBI?"

"That's right, ma'am. Thank you for being so willing to speak to us, and we're sorry we're late. I'm Agent Peter Burke, and this is my consultant Neal Caffrey. We're here about a painting you received a little over ten years ago."

"Yes. That was Jean Paul's painting. I remember it, but I don't own it anymore." The lady opened the door a little wider and motioned for them to come inside. She shut it immediately behind them.

"That's what we're here about." Neal said, "We want to know the story about the circumstances behind the sell."

Lindsey Loraine looked at Neal for a long moment, and Neal tried not to smile right away. Finally, she shook her head slowly. "Do I know you? You look so familiar, but I can't place it."

"You remember me as Jean Paul, but I'm Neal Caffrey now." Lindsey's eyes widened and she glanced toward a closed window. Neal looked at it as well and noticed the blinds were closed. The room itself was dark, and he took a look at the small apartment.

It was a dump. No way around it, no point in trying to be kind. Three of the four lights in the living room were burned out, the lamp shade was ripped, and the carpet was worn down to little stubs that probably collected dirt faster than puppy hair.

But it was also clean. For as poor as the small place looked, Lindsey obviously kept it in the best condition she could. It wasn't much, but it spoke to her character.

"Jean Paul?" Lindsey was looking at Neal again, and this time he smiled at his name. "J.P? How...no, _why_ are you here?"

"I'm here about the painting. It doesn't matter that its been sold, of course, but I need to make sure everything was legitimate on Anthony Rinolli's side of the deal. Do you remember what happened?" Neal didn't want to hurt the poor woman's feelings by making it sound like it was her fault the painting was sold, so he tread carefully through the conversation.

"Yeah. I remember it. Mostly because only a month after your father asked to buy the painting, and I said no, my father lost his job." The woman's face took on a dark look. "They came by again, only days later, and offered two hundred thousand. How could I say no? I got the hint once already."

Neal's face took on a pained look and Peter stepped in. "How about your friends? Do you remember what happened to them?"

She nodded, "Two of them sold their paintings right out. Rolando Rinolli had initially offered five hundred thousand for each painting, but dropped it when we had no other option but to sell. So I remember feeling like those two sold the rest of us out."

Peter's pen paused on the paper as he took notes. "And how about the other five?"

"Same story as mine. Their parents got fired within the year, not all at once, but close enough together for us to get the hint. We tried to call a conference, to bring the matter to attention, but nobody showed up." Her face, even now, burned in humiliation because of it, and Neal found himself unable to meet her eyes.

Peter placed a hand on Neal's back, nudged it gently, and then lowered it back to his side. Neal gave him a look of gratitude and turned back to Lindsey. "How about the two who didn't sell? What happened to them?"

"I don't know, J.P., but I still have Erik's number, and Bryce's. Let me get them for you." Lindsey moved to an old book on the bookshelf and opened it. It was a copy of _The Three Musketeers_, but when she opened it she turned to the back and showed Peter and Neal some penciled-in phone numbers. "They're the two who wouldn't sell."

Neal took it from her and looked at the numbers. "This one has a Rhode Island area code. Let's talk to Bryce next, since he's nearby."

Peter nodded. "Mrs. Loraine, would you mind if we stopped by later if we have more questions?"

Lindsey looked at Neal to answer. "Would it be okay if you called instead? My husband will be home in a couple of hours, and we try to keep the evenings between the two of us."

Neal, an expert on reading people, noted the hint of fear in her eyes. A deep, haunting sadness filled Neal's heart: too many people were feeling fear lately. Fear was a tiring emotion, it took its place as a companion among loneliness and desperation.

"May I talk to you privately, Lindsey, for just a second?" Peter noted Lindsey's nod and excused himself from her house.

But with the door slightly ajar, Peter could hear bits of what Neal was saying. "_Leave...I can help you...I'm sorry..." _along with Loraine's mumbled "_No where else to go."_

"Let's go." Neal said simply when he came out the door. By the time they made it to the car, Neal had his phone out and was dialing Eric.

"So who's this guy?" Peter asked when he put the car in drive and pulled into the street.

"Bryce LaBaron. He was one of my best friends that summer. It'll be good to see him again, I think." Neal's face turned sad again.

"That was a waste of time, really, we didn't learn anything from it." Peter grumbled, he didn't like to see Neal feeling like he was a part of the family who ruined a young woman's life.

"No. We learned that I made a huge mistake when I was seventeen, simply by making those paintings. I should have thought about the implications of making ten paintings right before running away. The Rinolli's were willing to destroy people's lives for a possible clue as to where I was, I should have known better."

**A/N: **Hey everybody! Hope you're doing well. My next update will be on Friday, a day early... Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Sorry its so short, I didn't realize that until just now. The next few are quite a bit longer, at least.


	6. Dinner Plans

Chapter 6

Bryce LaBaron's home wasn't too far. By the time they pulled into Bryce's driveway, Neal already regained control and couldn't help but mock Peter's tie.

"So what if it is ten years old?" Peter mumbled, annoyed at Neal's laughter, but happy to see him doing well enough to joke again. "Your styles date back forty years."

"Yes, and I know people mock me. But at least it has _style_ behind it." Neal flipped his hat and grinned when Peter snatched it away. Peter threw it on the back seat and got out of the car, "Come on Neal, let's hope we learn something solid here. I don't want this entire trip to lead to a dead end."

"That's what makes the cases fun, Peter. Dead ends, because then we have to go back and solve it from the beginning. Its like doing a maze, but there is no guarantee way to solve the case."

"And there are with mazes?" Peter rose his eyebrows at Neal.

"Always turn right, and right, and right. From the very beginning. Then its a sure thing that eventually, you'll find the way out." Neal smiled triumphantly for a second, and then knocked on the front door to a small town home.

"You cheat too much, Caffrey."

Peter waited until the door opened and an older lady appeared. He quickly introduced himself and Neal and the lady let him inside. "Mr. LaBaron will be down shortly, he's just finishing with a client."

A few minutes later, two men came downstairs talking about a real estate opportunity. By the way the taller gentlemen conducted himself, both Neal and Peter knew immediately he was LaBaron.

"Wow," Neal whispered, "He's sure changed. He used to be short, and I mean really small."

When LaBaron came back into the main room, he smiled at the two. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, if I had any more notice of this visit I would have set aside some time you."

He shook their hands, "How can I help you?"

When Peter asked about the painting, a dark look crossed LaBaron's face. "Look, I'm not selling it and I'm not giving it away. That's final."

Peter, startled, began to backtrack and Neal spoke up. When he told LaBaron who he was, a look of utter shock crossed LaBaron's face. "Jean Paul? How unexpected."

"Could we see the painting, Mr. LaBaron?" Peter asked and Neal gave him a sharp look. Inwardly, Peter smirked. Except for snapshots of Anthony Rinolli's _Moonlight_ painting, Peter had never seen a genuine work done by Neal Caffrey, even if he was Jean Paul at the time. Now was the chance. "We never know how relevant it may be to our search."

"I'll bring it down, but unless J.P. asks for it back, I'm keeping it." LaBaron's face took on a strict look which he directed at Neal for a moment, and then he left the room.

"Sort of an odd character, isn't he?" Neal asked thoughtfully, "Its almost like he has little man syndrome, but in a big body."

Peter's thoughts were on a different topic, he really didn't care about LaBaron. "'J.P.?' You look like a Jean Paul, but I don't know about 'J.P.'"

"Don't dwell on it, I went by it when I was twelve because I was the only kid in my class with two first names." Neal stood and walked to a display of Japanese art on the west wall. After inspecting it for a few moments, he moved on to some decorations across the room.

_Crash!_

They both flinched when the ceiling above them shook. It sounded as though something very heavy had been dropped. Neal listened for a second, and then began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Peter questioned, unable to see how the situation could amuse Neal.

"Its really nothing," Neal chuckled and looked at the ceiling again. "I just realized, he's looking for it in the _attic_."

Neal seemed so amused by this revelation, he kept chuckling every few minutes. Peter couldn't keep the smile off his face either, and by the time LaBaron came down with a package, they were both biting their lips.

"Sorry for the wait. I...had to get it down from the wall." LaBaron tried to explain and Neal grinned wider. Neal wasn't insulted at all, it made more sense to him that the painting would be lost after so long. In fact, it was a compliment that LaBaron even kept it.

Eagerly, Peter took the dusty old package and unwrapped it. The painting had been placed in a wooden frame and the wear and tear from the lack of any other protection was obvious. But Peter loved it immediately. He couldn't tell if he actually liked the style of the painting, or if it was just the knowledge that this was Neal's original work, but he _really_ liked it.

It was a picture of a lit candle, with the flame burning brightly. The background was dark, and the brass candlestick holder glimmered in the light of the fire. But the flame itself was the most amazing. It looked like the flame was coming out of the picture, it was so realistic. The colors were so bright Peter felt like could actually create light in a dark room.

Unable to resist, Peter reached out and touched the fire. A part of him kept telling him the light from the flame was real, and there was actually an electric switch hooked on, creating the effect. But then his fingers touched the painting and he felt the texture of the brush strokes, and amazement burned within him.

"What are you doing?!" LeBaron exclaimed. "You _never_ touch a painting, it ruins it! How can you not know that? Everybody knows you don't touch a painting."

Peter looked at Neal in embarrassment as LeBaron continued. It seemed the big man had a big and feisty temper. Peter wanted to argue back, to say that the painting showed obvious signs of wear and tear already, because of the drafty environment it was being kept in, but he knew he needed to be polite.

"I apologize, Mr. LeBaron, I won't touch it again." Peter listened to LeBaron's humph and handed the painting over to Neal to look at. LeBaron took one last look at the two and walked into the kitchen.

Casually, Neal took the painting, not really eager to look at what he had created so long ago, and in a different lifetime. But when his gaze slid over it, Neal's eyes widened considerably.

"Peter? Come here for a second." Peter took two steps forward and Neal spoke in a low tone, so that LeBaron couldn't hear from the kitchen. "This painting is a fake."

"What?" Peter's stomach dropped and he looked over the painting again. "How do you know that?"

"I can recognize my own paintings, Peter. I spent hours over this one, trying to get the colors right." Neal waved his hand over the flame and pointed at some of the brushstrokes. "But that's not the most obvious difference."

Neal's fingers moved to the signature on the painting and Peter's stomach dropped. It was signed _Neal Caffrey_.

It wasn't in Neal's handwriting, but it was clearly Neal's name. Somebody had forged the painting, and signed it with Neal's name, rather than Jean Paul's.

"Wow," Neal muttered, and Peter looked at him. "Do you realize how bad this would look for me in any other setting?"

Peter couldn't keep the smile off his face. "You'd be the laughing stock of the FBI if you were dumb enough to sign your own forgery."

Neal looked at him and Peter grinned even wider. "Oh wait, you actually did that."

Neal took a swing at Peter's stomach and Peter dodged it easily. The situation was really not funny, and Peter and Neal both knew that, but the irony was too much for the agent and consultant to let go.

"What do we do from here?" Neal asked Peter when they heard LeBaron coming in.

"This isn't in our field anymore, Neal. Somebody is targeting you directly, and they know who you once were. We need to involve Hughes and figure things out from there."

LeBaron stepped in and looked the two over. "What's going on?"

Peter asked LeBaron a few questions about recent visitors and LeBaron couldn't come up with anything useful. But there had been a break-in only the week before. LeBaron had reported it to the police, but since nothing had been taken they really hadn't looked into it too much.

"So they got it anyway." LeBaron stated and Peter asked him what he meant. "The Rinolli family tried very hard to get the painting from me, and offered me all sorts of money, but I refused."

"We've talked to Lindsey Loraine," Neal ventured, "she said her father lost his job after she said refused. Did anything happen to you?"

LeBaron laughed. "They tried a few things, but my family was prepared. My parents were absolutely paranoid about everything, so we had plenty of resources. My father's company couldn't afford to let him go, as long as they wanted to stay in business, and there wasn't a whole lot the Rinolli's could do."

LeBaron shook his head. "They sure wanted it, and I thought I knew what would happen because I saw what happened to everybody else, but my family was lucky. I guess they got it anyway."

"We don't think so." Peter stated. "It looks like somebody else is involved. But we would like to take this in for analysis, if you don't mind."

LeBaron took one last look at the painting's signature and sighed. "No point in keeping it anyways. Go ahead, I still consider it Jean Paul's painting anyways, and he can take it back if he wants to."

…..

Peter and Neal were exhausted by the time they made it to the FBI headquarters. They reported to Hughes who couldn't help but laugh at the irony.

"I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone." Hughes remarked, "Everything is backwards. Instead of trying to prove Neal Caffrey took and forged a painting, we're trying to find the person who took _Caffrey's_ painting and signed it with _Neal Caffrey's_ name."

"Jones!" Hughes called and Jones walked in. "How are you feeling about guard duty?"

Jones looked at Neal, who had dark circles under his eyes from the last two nights of clubbing. "I'm totally for it. There's a really great Sushi place a few blocks away, I thought we could go there."

"Excellent." Hughes turned to Peter. "We'll work on this tomorrow. I'm going to keep this case with White Collar Division for as long as I can. We haven't had any direct threats on Caffrey, so I still consider this a White Collar problem."

Peter nodded and turned to Neal. "Have you heard anything from the Rinollis? Has Anthony contacted you about those 'dinner plans' since yesterday?"

"No, and I don't think they'll try anything yet. They certainly won't do anything blatantly illegal."

"If you need anything, give me a call." Peter clasped Neal on the shoulder and turned to Jones. "We have a financial meeting tomorrow. Make sure you're here at eight sharp tomorrow morning."

Hughes looked at Neal, "I want both of you in tomorrow. I received the New York Division rankings this morning, and I want to discuss the results with the whole office."

As Neal and Jones walked away, Neal muttered "That sounds ominous."

…..

Two hours later, Neal and Jones walked into New York's finest sushi bar. Moz had passed on the invitation (Jones gathered it had something to do with a conspiracy theory), and Neal called in for a reservation for a seat by the window, at Jones' request.

"There's a really neat waitress who works here on Wednesday nights. I always come here for happy hour, and she serves my tables."

"Have you asked her out?" Neal found Jones had a surprising lack of confidence when it came to women. Neal even started to figure out that Jones tended to use Neal as a confidence booster. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"She could say no." Jones raised his eyebrows at Neal, "I bet that doesn't happen to you very often, does it?"

"I guess not. But I haven't been asking, have I?" Neal remarked, and Jones remembered Kate. Neal always flirted, but he never asked anybody out, and everybody knew that was because of Kate; everybody also knew that Kate was a girl Neal Caffrey might never get over.

"I guess not. But you should start now. Maybe we'll find your dream girl tonight." Jones was careful. He didn't want to hurt Neal's feelings, but it had been months since Kate's death, and years since Neal Caffrey had really had her, so Jones felt like it was time.

"Maybe." Neal smiled, but the reluctance was obvious.

Neal could sense somebody behind him right before a smelly, slimy drink splashed across his face, neck, and shoulders. He jerked around right as the young waiter regained his balance. The young man held what was once a full pitcher of root beer.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!" The young teenager had a look of utter horror on his face and he grabbed a rag from his apron. "Here, let me fix it for you."

Neal watched as the dirty rag drew near his face and he jumped up to get out of the way. "Its just fine. I know it was an accident."

The teenage waiter began to dab his shirt and Neal choked at the pungent odor. He knew the Clorox on the rag would bleach through his jacket and Neal quickly held a hand up. "Please, let me handle it."

The bus boy shook a little but backed away. Neal turned to Jones who was hiding a smile behind his hand. "Laugh it up, why don't ya?"

And Jones did begin to laugh. "Wow, that was amazing. Easily the highlight of my night."

Neal could feel the sticky root beer drying on him and he tried not to grimace. He hated root beer. The syrupy drink smelled too strong and it was way too sticky for his tastes. "I'm going to the bathroom to wash this off. Order me something good, will you?"

Neal walked away and the teenager followed him. When they neared the hall where the bathroom's were, the boy grabbed Neal's jacket. "I'm so sorry. Here, there's a better place to wash up. The bathrooms tend to be crowded at this time of the night."

Neal thanked him and followed the boy as he made a turn away from the bathrooms. But as the boy led him upstairs, Neal almost turned around to risk the bathrooms. The drink had already dried on him and no amount of rubbing could get the smell off. As they walked upstairs Neal found himself in the classier part of the restaurant, and he smiled at the familiar surroundings.

He used to take Kate to places like these. He never used stolen money for these types of treats because he earned enough restoring old paintings. What most people at the FBI didn't know was that he made an honest living when it came to Kate, he worked hard for his clients and they treated him well.

The boy led him across the much quieter dining room to a door. The boy turned to Neal, "I'm going to talk to my manager, I'll be right back up."

Neal thanked him and walked inside.

....

Neal should have expected it. He'd pulled off so many cons on his own that he should have noticed he was being played by the teen. But he hadn't, and now he closed his eyes at the sight that greeted him.

"Welcome back, Jean Paul. I'm pleased to see you have the same aversion to root beer after so many years. It's made things much easier."

Rolando Rinolli, the speaker, stood at the front of the table. Behind him, Anthony and Annabelle were seated with glasses of wine in front of them. Neal could barely see the dark shadow of somebody next to him before they had a hold of his arms.

The door locked behind him, and Neal felt himself being led to the family he had run away from so many years before.

…....

**A/N**: Hey everybody! I'm so sorry about not updating when I said I would. On Wednesday, I knew I'd be out of town all weekend so I thought I'd update early. But plans changed and I ended up out of town sooner than I thought.

With no access to my computer, there wasn't a whole lot I could do. I'll have the next update tomorrow, and I figure I'll just start updating daily from here on out.

Please give me some reviews, I'm still changing the story around (to include bits about Kate's death and what-not), and I think its looking even better than the original, but I always love the motivation.

Thanks for being amazing.


	7. Crippled Animal

Chapter 7

Neal didn't know the two men holding him by his arms. But he could see they were much bigger then him and there'd be no point in fighting back. When they pulled him to the table, Roland motioned to an empty seat and they pushed him to it.

"I can walk fine, thank you." Neal said sarcastically. He pulled out the chair and sat down, knowing there would be no point in resisting such a small thing.

Neal made a quick assessment of his situation. The dining room upstairs was nearly empty and the music was too loud downstairs. There wouldn't be much of a point in fighting right now because nobody would hear him, but if the Rinollis tried anything he'd fight until there was nothing left.

Rolando walked up to Neal and Neal tensed in his chair. When Rolando made it to Neal he held out a damp white rag.

Taking it, Neal used it to wipe off the sticky root beer. There wasn't a lot he could do for his shirt at that point, but it felt good to have it off his face and neck. He looked back at Rolando, who had taken a seat across from him. "You could have found a more polite way to get me up here, you know."

"I believe I did, but you refused the invitation your brother offered and left me with no other choice." Rolando picked up a bottle of wine and poured a little into Neal's glass. He then poured some into his own cup and took a long sip.

"What do you want, Rolando?" Neal sighed and took a sip. It hadn't been poisoned or drugged, Neal had seen nothing in his own cup before Rolando poured the wine, and Rolando was drinking the same wine.

"I'm not sure right now, Jean Paul." Rolando looked at Anthony and Annabelle. "But I must say I'm impressed with your record. You seem to have made a new name for yourself, and a well-known one at that."

"I'm a convicted felon. Not really something you want people to know about."

"It seems that somebody has already made the connection." Rolando pointed out, referring to the recent theft, "I might as well capitalize on it."

Neal turned away from Rolando with a shake of his head. He looked at Annabelle, who was leaning back in her chair. He knew he looked a lot like Annabelle, they both had the wavy hair and blue eyes. "I heard you became a doctor."

She nodded, "I finished my residency just a couple of years ago. I'm a surgeon now."

Her voice was soft and feminine. One look at her hand told Neal that she hadn't been married. Neal didn't know whether to be happy or sad for his sister. He knew Rolando didn't believe in education for women, but Rolando had sent Annabelle off for the university anyways with a hope that she would find a wealthy man.

Neal had still been at home at that time, and he remembered the few guys she originally brought home. Rolando had turned down each of them for reasons relating to wealth and power. Nobody argued with Rolando, and Annabelle had to give up some men she had truly grown to love.

"Congratulations." Neal tried to smile at her but ended up just nodding his head. He schooled his face carefully, trying not to show the fear that raged inside of him.

He knew he was in the presence of a cold-blooded killer. It wasn't his own life he was afraid for, but the lives of his friends. It would be too easy for Rolando to hurt the people Neal cared about in an act of revenge. Rolando had threatened it before, when Neal lived at home, and from what Neal learned it seemed that Rolando had kept to his word after Neal ran away.

Neal glanced back at the door. The two men stood by watching the scene play out. Neal knew they were hired thugs, and he wasn't about to find out what would happen if he tried to leave. He turned back to Rolando.

Rolando had been watching him, and now smiled. "You're free to leave the FBI, you know. I looked into it, you're clear to leave since they dropped charges."

"I know. I want to stay." Neal kept his voice level. "They're giving me a reasonable salary, and the work is interesting."

_And he made friends he could never leave_, but Neal wasn't about to tell Rolando that. Not that Rolando wouldn't guess on his own, but Neal didn't need to broadcast it.

"You don't understand, Jean Paul." Rolando set his glass of wine on the table and leaned forward. "I'm really not giving you an option. You're working with people who don't tolerate lawbreakers. They may tolerate you now, but if you don't leave they may learn things about you that they_ can't_ tolerate."

Neal shook his head. "Most of the stuff they could catch me on is precluded by the statute of limitations now. Even if it wasn't, its worth the risk. Blackmail won't work on me, Rolando."

"Putting you back in prison wouldn't benefit me. But getting you fired would. Do you really want your _friends_ at the FBI finding out what you have done? Do you really believe they would allow a criminal to work with them? They believe in justice, Jean Paul, and they won't stand by you when it counts." Rolando stated calmly.

"I guess I'll have to find out, won't I?" Neal wouldn't allow himself to be blackmailed into anything. If the FBI hated him after they had proof of his heists, and Neal didn't doubt Rolando could find the proof better than the FBI could, he'd have to live with it.

"Or," Rolando held up a finger. "You should remember what I said before. You're free to leave the FBI. They can't stop you, and as long as there is no proof that you were forced to leave, they can't hunt you down either."

"In other words, I can disappear legally." Neal rolled his eyes. "But you're wrong, Rolando. They'd find me. Even if they thought I left willingly, and they know I wouldn't, they'd hunt me down."

"Like a criminal?"

Neal paused, and then nodded. "Pe—the FBI would do whatever it took. I know they would, so you might as well give up."

When Rolando's face closed off and Anthony shifted in his chair, Neal felt like pleading. He wouldn't do that, but he needed to make sure Rolando's stubborn pride wasn't wounded more than needed. "There's really no use for me, Rolando. I've been caught, tagged, and released with limited freedom. I'm more of an embarrassment than anything else."

This time it was Anthony's turn to speak up. "We all know that isn't true. If the FBI values your services enough to pay you, and we know you have your own clientele on the side, I think we have plenty of opportunity in you."

Neal glared at Anthony, but turned back to Rolando. "Can I go now?"

"Stay and eat, then you can go." Rolando motioned to the sushi plates on the table.

"I already have dinner downstairs, and Agent Jones is waiting for me."

"Don't disrespect my hospitality, Jean Paul. But you're right about keeping friends waiting. Thank me and excuse yourself, and then you may go." Rolando broke open his chopsticks and pulled a few servings of sushi onto his plate.

Neal gritted his teeth. "Thank you for dinner, but I'd like to return now. Please excuse me, Rolando." Neal stood up and walked to the door. The guards were looking behind him but he paid them no attention. When he reached for the door, the bulkier man on the right grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him back.

Neal turned back to Rolando, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "Am I not allowed to go?"

"Address me properly and you may leave." Rolando smiled as he said this.

Neal tried to keep his breathing down, and in that moment he remembered the case. "_Rolando_, would you please bring the paintings to Anthony's home tomorrow? We have recently had some news about Anthony's theft, and it would be nice to clarify something by looking at the paintings you possess."

Rolando nodded, "I'll have them sent over tonight; I'd like to find out who stole from my sons as well."

"Thank you. Now, please excuse me, _father_."

Neal turned back to the door and nobody stopped him as he left.

…..

"What took you so long?" Jones asked when Neal walked to his chair. Jones looked at Neal's dark face and immediately knew something was wrong. "Are you all right?"

"I've lost my appetite. Do you mind if we leave early?"

Jones quickly called for containers to box up the remaining food. Neal practically threw a credit card at the poor waitress, who _was_ very beautiful, and kept looking around after she left.

"What's wrong, Caffrey?" Jones asked. He had never seen Neal this flustered before, and didn't understand that adrenalin had taken over his friend.

A different waitress came back with the credit card, and Jones instinctively knew the other girl had been scared off. He almost mentioned this when he noticed that Neal's hands were shaking so hard he could barely sign the receipt. Neal gave a generous tip and slipped the card away in a quick motion.

Jones barely caught up to Neal when Neal made it to the door. Jones truly believed that if the car wasn't running when Neal reached it, Neal would begin to travel the rest of the way home on foot.

Jones grabbed Neal's arm and directed him to the car. Neal didn't struggle when Jones opened the door for him and put him inside. Jones then got into the driver's seat and they took off.

On the way home, Jones finally tried to talk to Neal again. "What happened, Caffrey?"

Taking a deep breath, Neal shook his head. "It was a set up. The whole thing, and I fell for it like some naive target."

…..

Neal called Peter and explained what happened when they made it to June's home. Neal saw the beautiful home and closed his eyes. He spoke to Peter through the phone. "I'm not staying with June anymore. Moz has an apartment he recently rented, and he'll be cool if I stay there."

Neal hung up the phone and turned to Jones, "I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I'm going to call a cab."

"I'm staying with you, Neal. I took this assignment and even if I'm bad at it, I'll still try. At least if something happens, we'll know immediately."

Neal ignored Jones and called a cab. When he gave the address of the park down the street, he hung up the phone and looked back to Jones. "You're being watched too. How else would they have known you go there every Wednesday night?"

"I'm still coming." Jones folded his arms and Neal gave up.

"Fine, but we're doing things my way."

….

The next morning, Jones and Neal arrived in the office at seven in the morning. Peter was already waiting, along with several agents. In the next hour they took both Neal and Jones' report. Jones felt really stupid when he mentioned he flirted with the waitress the entire time Neal had been gone, but Neal didn't seem to care.

"And where did you go after that?" Hughes asked both employees.

Neal's answer was abrupt: he had gone to his friend's apartment when he was confident nobody was following him.

Jones' answer was much more elaborate. "We must have taken four taxi cabs, and I swear he knew exactly where they'd be, but Neal never called anybody after that first cab. And I'm pretty sure we lost anybody who may have been following us after that first cab, because we got out on a street corner while the cab had just barely parked, and another one pulled up right behind it. I know that doesn't sound like much, but it was so smooth when we were doing it. I don't think I could have tracked him down if I were on his tail."

By eight in the morning, tempers were high and the FBI was already making plans for that night. But Hughes was adamant about having his meeting on time. "Nothing more happened last night, and you'll be seeing Caffrey's family today, anyways. We'll talk to them then."

They went to the conference room and sat down. Neal immediately started to drop his head when Hughes pulled out his reports. "I'm proud to announce: White Collar has the best FBI financial report in the country. Our expenses have dropped thirty percent in the last year, and our closing rates have increased by fifteen percent. Overall, our costs per case have dropped so rapidly we are looking at looking at ranking number one in the country."

Everybody congratulated themselves while glancing at Neal covertly. They all knew why they had done so well. The Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey team closed cases so fast, even the other divisions in New York began to ask for their advice.

But the FBI had discovered quickly that Neal was pretty poor at solving traditional kidnapping, organized crime, and homicide cases since Neal couldn't stand the sight of blood and hated hearing about violence. But when any case involved White Collar crimes or thefts, Neal was the man everybody went to.

Hughes looked over at Caffrey, expecting to see Neal smiling cockily, and grunted when he saw Neal's head nodding in a bored sleep. Neal Caffrey had an annoying habit of falling asleep when Hughes held these meetings. It wasn't usually because he was tired, just bored out of his mind.

Hughes pulled out a box from his brief case. "Caffrey. Here, keep yourself occupied during these meetings, I want you awake."

Neal woke up and took the colorful box. A huge grin broke out when he realized they were Crayola Crayons. Neal picked up a sheet of paper, opened the box, and began to color, every now and then glancing at Hughes.

Satisfied that Neal Caffrey was alert, Hughes turned back to his agents. A few of them were smiling and Peter kept looking between Neal and Hughes, obviously pleased. Hughes realized what it looked like: he had given one of his consultant's crayons to color with, something he had obviously planned out beforehand.

"My wife got them from her work." Hughes explained, trying to regain control of his dignity. "I thought they might be useful to keep our consultant awake and _paying attention._"

Neal looked up and nodded. "I'm paying attention."

"Good." Hughes finished the meeting with a discussion on future expenses. Because the office passed up everyone in the country, even the Chicago division, the FBI was sending the agents on a retreat in a few months. Hughes finished the meeting when Neal finished his third drawing.

A few agents gathered around Neal when he revealed his pictures. The first was a cartoon version of everybody who had been in the meeting. It was so obvious which agent was which that a few agents expressed their desires to keep it. Hughes took it and put it above the whiteboard in the office.

The second picture was of a puppy. Lauren immediately recognized it as the puppy she had bought a few months before. "How did you know?"

"I saw it on your cell phone." Neal explained, making Lauren wonder when he had been on her cell phone.

The third was Da Vinci's _Last Supper_. And the details were so accurate Peter shook his head. "How do you do that, Caffrey?"

Neal made a disgusted face. "I can't even begin to tell you how many hours I've spent looking at that painting for one of my classes. It was going to be on the final exam, and I needed to know every detail."

"Should I be worried about it?"

Neal laughed. "Worried about _me_ breaking into the Louvre? Wow, Peter, I'm flattered. But I guarantee I couldn't do that."

Peter grunted and took a swipe at Neal. Neal ducked and jumped out of Peter's reach. "I'm not sure what you can't do, Caffrey. I'm not giving praise, mind you, but I'm honestly beginning to think you can do anything."

Neal's face took on a mournful air. "I wish that were true, Peter, but now its my turn to be honest. I can't play basketball for the life of me."

"Basketball?" Peter began to laugh, "Then we're playing this weekend, I want to see you fail miserably at something, Caffrey. And if you're good at it, and just pulling my chain, I promise I'll put something slimy in your bed."

"Funny. But you won't see me picking up a basketball, ever. Some of the inmates in prison tried to teach me, and I ended up the water-boy after two days." Neal's face went a little red when he remembered this.

"You can't be that bad." Peter scoffed, but couldn't take the smile off his face.

"I can be. I got a nickname in high school after we played basketball in gym class, I still don't talk about it."

Neal refused to tell Peter about his nickname, and finally Peter let it go. They made their plans to visit Eric later that day, but decided they needed to stop by Rinolli's home to check on the paintings.

"You think you'll be okay to come back to Anthony Rinolli's house, Neal?" Peter asked when they got into Neal's car. Truthfully, Peter sort of looked forward to meeting Rolando Rinolli. Neal had told him about the man, and after all the trouble Rolando was causing Neal, Peter's interest was piqued. He had met very few people that Neal Caffrey honestly disliked, and Peter liked to see why.

"If we make this a short visit, then it'll be fine. But I'm not going to tell you what I see in front of the Rinollis, we'll wait until we're back in the car. Deal?" Neal didn't want Rolando to see him at work, but he did want to see the paintings after two of his ten had been stolen.

Peter nodded and they left for Anthony Rinolli's home.

When they pulled up to Anthony's house, Neal noticed the two expensive cars already in the driveway. "It looks like they're here already."

The door opened before they made it to the entrance. Peter kept a hand near his pocket. Hitting one button on his cell phone would alert headquarters that they were in trouble. The FBI was already on a watch, and the response time would be faster than usual.

Rolando Rinolli stepped out and Peter quickly gave the man a once over. The man looked strict in his formal attire and graying hair. He was straight-backed and had a superior air about him. Peter stood straighter at the sight of this man and kept eye contact until Rolando looked away, seeming indifferent.

"Jean Paul, good to see you again so soon." Rolando shook Peter's hand and clasped Neal on the shoulder. "Annabelle and I put the seven paintings in the living room, you can look at them there."

Neal could feel the show Rolando was putting on, and hoped Peter would see through it. Rolando could play the perfect host when he wished to, and Neal hated the fact that Rolando could charm a bee when necessary.

"Thank you Rolando," Neal nodded and walked past Rolando. Rolando's face darkened at his name, but he recovered quickly.

"I hoped we were past this, Jean Paul. You have no reason to despise me." Rolando led the two inside to the living room, where the paintings were laid out. Neal rolled his eyes at Rolando's behavior and tried to ignore his family.

Peter looked at the paintings in amazement. He always knew Caffrey was an artist, but this amazed him. Each painting featured some sort of light. There was one with a sunrise, the light of the sun seemed to overpower the morning day. Another featured a sunset, and it seemed to evoke the feeling of passion in the beautiful colors.

Peter looked over the other paintings with a fond eye. The most prominent feature in all the paintings was light over darkness. In each one, light strongly radiated throughout the painting, fighting its way through dark corners.

Peter could imagine what a young Jean Paul had been feeling when he created the paintings, and Peter looked over at Neal with a warm feeling in his heart.

Neal was not smiling. Each time he moved from painting to painting, his look became a little darker. When he moved to the last painting, he looked at Peter. "A word, please?"

Peter moved away from the other Rinollis and Neal followed him. When Neal was away from his family, he spoke softly, but roughly. "They're all fakes."

Peter's stomach sunk. "Did they sign your name, again?"

"No. Its much less subtle. I swear, Peter, whoever is doing this is mocking me. And they're doing a great job of it, I'm about ready to pull out my hair." Neal became so flustered in the next few seconds he almost forgot to keep his voice low.

Rolando began walking toward them and Peter turned to Neal. "We'll talk about this later."

"Is there a problem, Jean Paul?" Rolando gave Neal a disapproving look, referring to Neal's momentary lack of control.

"Not at all, Rolando. Thank you for your time." Neal began to walk away when Peter put his hand on Neal's arm, stopping him.

"Its procedure, Neal. The FBI tells civilians when they have fakes. I'm sorry, it'll just be a minute." Peter apologized and walked back to the three remaining family members.

"We need to investigate some more, but we believe these seven paintings have been stolen. The ones you have provided are fakes." Peter informed them.

Rolando's face grew menacing. "What do you mean, stolen? Six of these paintings were in _my_ home. There must be a mistake, because they couldn't have been stolen."

"We may have made a mistake, but that's the conclusion we have come to."

Peter asked Rolando a few questions about their security and recent activity within the home. Rolando had one dinner party with thirty guests the week before, and Annabelle worked long nights in the hospital.

Both owners were prime material for a robbery, and neither one wanted to believe it. Rolando finally calmed down enough to speak clearly to Peter. "When you find the person who broke into my home, you'll tell me?"

"It will be public information, but that is the extent of the FBI's duties." Peter informed them and then looked over to Neal. "If you have no other questions, Neal Caffrey and I should be going."

Peter turned to walk away, but his curiosity overwhelmed him for just a second too long. He looked at Neal again, who was standing across the room against the door, and turned to Anthony and Annabelle.

"I have one last question." Peter began, feeling a little inappropriate. "Neal told me he got a nickname after gym class. He said he got it because he was horrible at basketball. I need to know if that is true, and if so, what that nickname is."

Anthony began to laugh and Annabelle smiled. Peter took a hesitant look at Rolando and found the older man grimacing, his lips clenched tightly

"Yeah, he's _really_ bad." Anthony chuckled. "Maybe he's better now, but I don't think anybody could have been worse then Jean Paul."

"Its an entirely inappropriate question, Agent Burke." Rolando interrupted. "I never appreciated having my son compared to a crippled animal, and I don't appreciate it being brought up now."

Peter's curiosity burned inside him now. "But what was the nickname?"

"Goodbye Agent Burke. I hope the next time I see you, it'll be with my found paintings. I do not wish to see you before then." Rolando stood and walked out of the room, patting Neal on the back as he went, leaving Annabelle and Anthony to deal with Peter.

Anthony looked out the door Rolando had walked through and turned back to Peter. "I believe it was 'The Lame Gazelle.' He got the name because of the way he hobbled while he tried to dribble the ball."

"The Lame Gazelle?" Peter repeated and looked back at Neal. For a brief second he could imagine a young Jean Paul, all arms and legs, trying to dribble a ball. "Somehow I can see it. Have a good day."

…...

**A/N**: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. My goodness, it was a long one. Thanks for all the reviews, I love reading them.


	8. Solving Cases

Chapter 8

"The Lame Gazelle." Peter stated simply as they left for Eric Rhyne's home. Peter's mouth twitched when Neal turned to him in shock.

"They told you?"

"Anthony Rinolli told me, I asked." Peter answered, feeling a little cocky. "I think the name suits you. Did the other inmates also say that's what you resembled?"

"They were a little more polite then that." Neal hinted, "Although, they did call me a few other things....I haven't improved much since high school."

Peter shook his head, and allowed himself to become a little more serious. "Are you all right, Neal? So far we have nine stolen paintings, and we might soon be finding the tenth."

"Jones said Eric is willing to meet with us, right?" Neal replied, ignoring the question. He didn't know what he was feeling at that point. Usually he enjoyed the excitement of nearing either a dead end or an entirely new angle of a case, but now he just wanted this to finish.

He hadn't slept when Jones and Neal reached Moz's apartment. Neal had spent the night discussing the situation with Mozzie, and they both agreed the best thing Neal could do was stay close to the FBI. If he disappeared, at least they would know about it.

"Yes, he owns an art gallery and we have an appointment with him there." Peter answered, willing to let go of the issue for now. "He keeps the painting in the backroom, and the gallery is open until four, so he'll be around until then."

Neal turned to Peter, confused. "He keeps it at an art gallery? That's strange. If he hasn't sold it and plans to keep it, I'm surprised he'd waste space at an expensive art gallery."

"We can always ask him." Peter smiled at himself, "Maybe he prefers to waste space at a gallery then in his attic."

"Ha ha." Neal murmured.

…..

The gallery was reasonably close by, and they arrived only half an hour later. Eric Rhyne greeted them at the entrance and led them inside.

"Neal Caffrey." Eric started, shaking both of their hands. "My art isn't going to disappear, now, is it?"

Neal smiled, uncomfortable. These conversations always went a little bad for him, considering he was a well-known art thief. "Not at all, I'm a reformed man."

"Mr. Rhyne, we're here about Jean Paul Rinolli's painting. Do you mind if we see it?"

"Of course, Agent Burke." Eric led them toward the back room. "But while we're at it, I'd like to reacquaint myself with Jean Paul here."

Eric turned to Neal, who's face took on a huge grin. "You recognized me. You're the first to do so."

Neal looked like the Cheshire Cat as he reunited with Eric, he couldn't lose the smile. Eric didn't seem to care about Neal as much, having been conditioned to despise art thieves. Neal wanted to break through the barrier though, and tried to make conversation. "How long have you known?"

"A while now. Honestly, I'm surprised your family hasn't figured it out. You haven't changed _that_ much." Eric answered. They were now in the back room and he began rummaging through some paper-covered paintings with the titles written in marker on the top. "Kind of came as a shock, to see that my honest friend, Jean Paul Rinolli, became a well-known art thief after only a few years away from his family."

"Alleged Art Thief." Neal responded out of habit. Peter elbowed Neal in the back, and Neal shrugged away from him. "I'm working with the FBI now, as a consultant."

"I heard that as well. But it doesn't make up for your previous crimes."

"I'm working on it." Neal's face lost the smile and he turned away to look at some of the paintings. Eric Rhyne had been a good friend, and he hated to lose the friendship. "My family has figured it out, anyways. They had one of the paintings stolen and things sort of fell into place."

"Really?" Eric finally found what he was looking for, and pulled out a brown paper-covered package. He took it over to a desk and began to unfold it. "I guess they had to find out at some point, good riddance. Here's your painting, do what you want with it."

Peter took the painting first and immediately turned to the signature. It was signed by Jean Paul, at least. He turned the painting over to Neal who looked it over.

Neal's eyes focused on the painting and he finally shook his head. "It looks like we're ten for ten. Eric, has anything unusual happened in the last few weeks?"

Eric thought for a second, "Not that I can think of."

Peter sighed, since they were heading toward a dead end. "Let's get the nine forgeries to the office and see if we can find a connection."

Eric said goodbye and let them exit the building on their own. When Peter and Neal made it to the car, Peter turned to Neal. "He seemed awfully cold."

"I understand why." Neal replied, "Art thieves aren't looked at with high regard. Its too bad, I liked Eric back then, and it looks like he stayed in Art after all these years. We would have had a lot to talk about."

…..

They picked up the eight forgeries at Anthony Rinolli's home and combined them with the other two forgeries at the the office. It was a big event for the FBI, and they had quite an audience in the conference room as they tried to solve the case. Peter marveled at Jean Paul's artistic skills, Neal shuddered at the memories, and everybody else burned with curiosity about Neal Caffrey's many hidden talents.

Neal held up a snapshot of Anthony's painting, "Why not leave a forgery for this painting?" He asked, walking around the room.

"They wanted it to be obvious that it was stolen." Jones answered, looking at CandleLight painting.

"So they connected Jean Paul to me." Neal moved on, "and they decided to forge nine paintings, with one of those paintings making the connection _very_ clear."

They worked on the case until after most of the agents left. Only Peter, Neal, Jones, and Hughes remained when Jones spoke up again.

"Neal. Do you know anybody else who has made the connection? Nobody in your family seems to, how about the former owners of the paintings?"

Something that had been irking the back of Neal's mind became suddenly clear. Eric Rhyne had known who Neal was. He was the only person to know about the Rinollis, Neal Caffrey, _and_ the ten paintings.

"Only one person that we know about has made the connection." Neal turned to his partner. "Peter, what if its Eric Rhyne? He obviously hates me already."

"That's not anything." Peter answered, turning to Eric's painting. "You said yourself he has good reason to hate...."

"He has every reason to hate me." Neal moved on for Peter. "And it all fits. He knows about security systems, or at least he should, considering he has a top model. And he should have noticed something odd about the gallery after somebody broke in."

"Most people do." Peter, getting excited, began to nod. "And unless he takes out your paintings frequently, showing them around, another thief would have had to search through both his home _and_ the gallery. Something would have been noticeably out of place the next day."

"And Eric would have known where Bryce's painting was, if Bryce ever showed it to him." Neal finished.

"But it doesn't quite add up. Why would he do this?" Jones interjected. "It sounds to me like there are other, safer options to bring you down, Caffrey."

"It'd be revenge." Neal shook his head in amazement. "He knows about my history, and I'll bet he's been testing the waters, trying to figure out what the Rinolli's next move is going to be. It is safer because he's hoping they'll take care of the problem for him."

"But they haven't done anything, so won't he make the next move now that he knows that?" Jones asked.

"If he believed nothing immediate would happen, then maybe. Its been a week since they found out who I was, he might think its time to step up." Neal answered. "Only time will tell if we're right, I guess."

Peter stood up, naked anger marring his face. It made sense, and that made Peter angry. This wasn't about greed, it never had been for the thief, because Jean Paul's paintings wouldn't be worth much on the market. They weren't well-known, and because of that their value also remained low. Peter hated criminals who did things purely out of spite. If Eric was the real culprit he may have seriously harmed Neal by revealing his identity to the Rinolli family.

"Jones, wait here until you hear from us." Peter said, grabbing his coat. "Neal and I are going to Eric's home to have a little chat."

"You don't have a warrant, Agent Burke." Hughes interrupted. "And we won't be able to get one on such a circumstantial theory. We'll just spook him by throwing around accusations."

"I want him scared." Peter answered, and he grabbed Neal by the arm when Neal hesitated. "I want him scared enough to turn himself in. If somebody did this just to put Caffrey in an unsafe position, I'll do the same for them."

"Peter," Neal tried to slow down, a little frightened at the intensity in Peter's eyes. He didn't understand what his partner was thinking. He tried to start over again. "Peter, if the Rinolli's find out he's a suspect, I'm not sure what they'll do. Don't be so rash, we need to _wait_."

"No, Caffrey. We're not going to wait. If he has nothing to hide, he'll show that by letting us investigate his residence and gallery." Peter's protective instincts had kicked in during the last few days, and he already didn't like Eric Rhyne after he met him earlier that day. Now he was in overdrive and he just wanted this case finished.

Neal obeyed and minutes later they were off to Eric Rhyne's house, it was fifteen minutes further than the gallery, and they didn't talk until the end.

"Peter, this is uncomfortable. Can't we call him into the office tomorrow or something?" They pulled into the driveway and Peter turned off the car.

"I won't make you do anything you're uncomfortable with. But I'm going to talk to him now, whether or not you're with me. If our theory is true, then I want something done about it. I'm not going to wait for him to make his next move. Not when you're the target." Peter got out of the car and began walking to the house.

This wasn't like Peter, and Neal knew it. The week's stress must have caught up to Peter, and now he was acting without thinking. Neal couldn't allow Peter to go into the home of a criminal alone, even if Eric Rhyne was a white collar criminal with no history of violence. Neal jumped out of the car and caught up to Peter.

"I'm here." Neal spoke softly, and they rang on the doorbell.

Eric Rhyne answered only moments later. When he saw who it was, he scowled. "What do you want?"

"We're wondering about the ten paintings." Peter said. "We have a theory, and we'd like to talk to you about it."

"Do you have a warrant?"

"Not right now. But we figure if you answer our questions we might never reach that point." Peter's scowl matched Eric's and the two stared at each other for a moment.

"Come inside. I'll grab some drinks from the kitchen." Eric held the door open and motioned down the hall. "There's a study down the hall, we can talk in there."

Peter nodded and nudged Neal, who was staring at Eric in open apprehension. Now that Neal knew what Eric _may_ have done, he was a little scared to be in his presence. Turning away, he walked down the hall to the room they had indicated.

The door was closed, so Neal opened it and took a few steps inside. There, he gasped.

Peter followed inside and his mouth fell open. There were the ten paintings in plain sight, each one leaning against the wall. They were spread out across the room, which was covered in an artist's removable plastic carpet protector.

"What is this?" Neal asked. "He told us to come into this room."

Peter moved across the room and looked at one of the paintings. "Can you tell if these are the real things, Neal?"

Neal gave him a look that clearly said _of course I can, duh._, and inspected the paintings. He passed over three before turning back to Peter. "These are the real paintings."

"I'm glad you recognize them, Jean Paul."

Peter and Neal looked up to find Eric Rhyne standing there with a gun.

"Eric?" Neal asked. He knew, but didn't want to believe the truth. "What are you doing?"

Peter began reaching for his gun slowly, and Rhyne pointed the gun at him. "Keep your hands down, Agent, or I'll shoot the two of you."

Neal looked at the proof of the crime one more time. "But will you tell me why? Its not just because I'm an art thief, Eric, there are too many out there for you to have your revenge on all of them."

"Its because I trusted you, and believed in you, and you betrayed me! You're an animal, and you don't deserve to have my respect." Eric's eyes had a mad glint in them, and he waved the gun around. His voice was ragged from the stress. "The Rinollis took everything from my family, but I stood by your side for such a simple thing, because I was afraid there was a reason behind you're ten paintings, just like the Rinollis did."

Eric shook his head. "Imagine my shock when I found out you were a criminal, and one of the worst of them. You followed in your family's path, and now you might as well walk side by side with them. I won't protect you anymore."

The hard truth was that Neal could see his point. He had followed his family in the life of crime, and so maybe he didn't deserve any protection from them. But Peter, the ever present anchor at his side, couldn't even begin to see the point.

"Caffrey's been working with the FBI for months now, Mr. Rhyne, and he's never hurt anyone. That's enough for us and it should be enough for you." Peter said angrily.

"Its not enough for me. Do you realize what he does to my business? People don't trust art, because somebody with _talent_ can destroy the value. My business struggles because I have to pay insurance costs, security costs, as well as the costs of running a business. How does that not hurt me?!" Eric's lips turned white in anger as he looked at Neal. Peter's hand inched toward his gun just a little bit more.

"That has nothing to do with Caffrey's work." Peter defended. The man made no sense to Peter. Neal had all but told Peter days ago that Neal was careful about what he took and forged. While it was still wrong and Neal would be held accountable for it, Eric Rhyne could mind his own business. "If you have some information on what he has done, you can turn it in to the FBI. You do _not_ take justice into your own hands because of some rumors you've heard."

"I can when I defended him from his own family. I'm tired of seeing him escape justice, when my family has been bankrupted because of his actions."

Rhyne's gun pointed at Neal and he pulled the trigger. In half a second Peter turned to Neal and pushed him as hard as he could in the opposite direction.

Neal's body changed directions as the bullet pierced his shoulder. He cried out as Rhyne began to pull the trigger again.

"No!" Cried Peter, and he leaned over to cover Neal's body with his own. He felt a shot hit his chest and another graze his temple just as everything went dark.

….....

Neal felt Peter's body go limp across him and a shudder coursed through his body. He could sense Rhyne standing there with the gun still loaded, waiting for him to make another move.

"Peter." Neal moved slowly out from beneath Peter, wincing when the plastic beneath him crackled loudly. When he was fully extricated, Neal shook Peter gently. "Peter, get up."

"He wasn't supposed to die." Rhyne commented. "But perhaps its better this way, I won't have any witnesses to worry about."

Neal could barely feel the wound in his shoulder, and his mind was barely hanging on as he looked at the blood on Peter's chest. He could tell Rhyne was speaking but he couldn't understand the words. He did see the gun come up again, and knew that Rhyne would kill Neal and then finish off Peter, if there was anything left to finish off.

Peter had partly pulled his gun out before he had been taken down so Neal took the opportunity. In a blur of a movement Neal grabbed Peter's gun and took three shots at Eric Rhyne. With his wounded shoulder, Neal shot awkwardly, but well enough that Eric's bullet went wide after the first shot and he went down after the second.

When Neal was positive Eric wasn't moving, and he didn't pause to think of why, he turned back to Peter. His shocked mind took in the blood splattered over Peter's clothes and saw the small graze across his temple and he began to shake violently.

He reached into Peter's jacket and pulled out the phone. Neal wasn't sure which panic button to push and simply flipped open the phone. When he hit send once, covering the phone in sticky blood, Hughes' number came up first since Peter had called him on the way to Eric's home.

Hughes picked up after the third ring. "Agent Burke? How's your talk going."

"Hughes. Its me." Neal felt like he was being stifled, and he leaned over Peter a little more. When he looked at Peter's chest, he noticed Peter seemed to be bleeding _backwards_. Blood dripped from Neal and hit Peter, but all he could understand was that blood was on Peter.

"Caffrey? Are you all right?" Hughes could tell something was wrong, and his voice grew tense. "Where's Peter?"

"He's....he's been shot." Neal's voice broke and he leaned over Peter a little more, resting against him lightly. "We're at Rhyne's, call an ambulance."

"We have an ambulance coming already, Caffrey." Hughes motioned to Jones and Jones immediately got to work. "Stay on the phone, Neal, give me updates. Are you hurt?"

Neal looked down at his arm, it was soaked in blood but it didn't seem to be bleeding as much anymore. "I...think so. I'm okay, but Peter isn't moving."

"Where has he been shot, Neal? Stay with me."

Neal could already hear the distant sirens, and the acid in this mouth burned distinctly, but he obeyed Hughes. "In the chest, and...his head, a little."

Somebody came from behind Neal, and he flinched into Peter. A soft voice spoke in his ear, "Come on, its time to go."

The tall man grabbed Neal by the good arm and pulled him up. Neal looked into his face and saw somebody vaguely familiar, but couldn't quite place where from with his mind all rattled from blood loss.

"Are you here to help?" Neal asked as he dropped the phone.

"Yes. Somebody else is coming for your friend. We only have a few minutes." The stranger pulled Neal's good arm around his neck and Neal's head began to droop. He followed the man outside and into a waiting van, allowing somebody else to do the work.

When the paramedics finally arrived, all trace of Neal Caffrey's whereabouts had vanished.

…..

**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Hey, I always hope you review, but if you notice something you don't like about my writing style, especially something obvious that I should be able to fix, I'd really appreciate it. For example, do I confuse you with all my commas or something?

Thanks for your help and support! See you tomorrow.


	9. Struggles

_Peter._

When Neal was guided into the van, his dazed mind at first didn't register what was happening. He could only focus on his friend, the man who captured him years before, sent him to prison for the crimes he committed, and then let him out so they could work together and create a strong friendship.

Neal knew, more than anything, that Peter worked hard on him. Neal couldn't have given up his old life for just anything, and if Peter hadn't stepped in Neal knew he would have been right back to his life of crime.

So when the white van opened its doors, and Neal was pushed inside, all he could do was lie down and rest his hot forehead against the cool metal floor. Somebody was leaning over him, and he ignored them until they lifted him up.

Somebody was speaking. For a second, he couldn't understand their mumbled English, but he soon realized they were speaking in Italian. "Will he be all right?"

"Lay him on his back, and stop the car as soon as possible. We need to stop the bleeding." A feminine voice spoke in his ear and he muffled a groan with his arm. "Hold him down, I don't want him moving more than we can help it."

When his arm was pulled away from him, and then pressed against his chest, he opened his eyes and focused on the speakers. "Annabelle...Anthony?"

"Hey Buddy." Anthony smiled and wiped something off Neal's face. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap." Neal answered honestly. "Where's Peter?"

"I'm sorry, Jean Paul." Anthony lost his smile and stroked Neal's hair once. "I'm not sure, we didn't get the chance to see. But I'm sure they'll take care of him."

"I need to see him. I should be with him." Neal muttered, and he turned to Annabelle. She was working on his shoulder quickly and didn't pay any particular attention to him. "What's going on?"

Nobody answered, and Neal's senses slowly came back to him. He looked around the gutted van and noticed Rolando sitting on the far side, watching him. Neal tried to sit up, and Anthony pushed him back down gently.

"Let me go. I need to go." Neal whimpered when he tried to move again, but Anthony's knee was now pressed into his stomach, effectively pinning Neal to the floor.

"You're injured. We need to take care of you, just hold still and it won't hurt as much." Anthony said, trying to be kind.

"Lift him up, I want to take care of his back." Annabelle spoke gently and Anthony lifted Neal from behind. "The exit wound is a little larger, but it passed through muscle. It should heal in a few weeks, tops."

Feeling helpless, Neal weakly tried to move away from the prodding hands. They cut away his bloodied shirt and wiped away most of the blood. Every time Neal closed his eyes, either Annabelle or Anthony would wake him up. "Stay awake, Jean Paul," they would say over and over again.

At one point Annabelle made him drink some water. Neal struggled on it, and Annabelle commented that they would most likely need an I.V. until he could hydrate on his own. Only then, Neal desperately drank the rest of the water.

He finally fell asleep when Annabelle said the rudimentary bindings were complete. Rolando got up and moved toward his three children. He looked at Neal's face, tense in sleep, and said, "when he wakes up, we'll tell him Peter Burke is dead. Its time Jean Paul starts learning who's important, and who isn't."

….....

Peter woke up with a pounding headache in the ambulance. His chest was tight and he pulled back his shirt to see a deep, black bruise blossoming.

"You're lucky you were wearing a vest, Agent." A voice spoke near him. "Some officers neglect these most basic safety measures, and its always hard seeing the results."

"What happened?" Peter spoke softly, trying not to aggravate his headache.

"We're not really sure. You have a lot of blood on you, but almost none of it is yours. The man who died looks like he was too far away, but I know the police are looking in to it." The man answered, truthfully. He had blonde hair and a slight beard growing in.

Peter's mind slowly processed this. "I took the one shot?"

"Another bullet grazed your temple, which is what knocked you out. You were very lucky, any closer and it would have flat out killed you." The blonde man kept answering.

The other guy elbowed him. "Did you miss the class on talking to the victims? We're not in charge of that, so _shut up_."

Peter remembered going to the house....with Neal "Where's Neal? Is he all right?"

The two men looked at each other carefully, before turning back to Peter. "Are you referring to the other man? Or is there a third?"

Peter groaned, "There were three of us, why? Where's Neal?"

The blonde man carefully looked at Peter. "We found a lot of extra blood on you that couldn't have been yours. And it wasn't the dead guy's blood either, so it looks like your friend wandered off."

Fully awake now, Peter remembered everything until he got shot. "They shot him before they got me. He's been shot. I need your phone, right now."

Unwilling to argue, the blonde paramedic handed his phone to Peter and Peter called Hughes.

…...

When Neal woke up he was in a brightly lit room. For a few minutes, he had to keep his eyes closed from the light, but when he finally adjusted he was grateful for being able to see. He was in a tan room with a ceiling fan. It was a small room, and his twin sized bed seemed to extend across the length of it, but at least it didn't seem like the cell block at the super-max.

Anthony sat by his bed, his eyes closed and his head leaning back. Neal couldn't tell if he was napping or just resting his eyes. Not really caring, Neal looked down at himself. His shoulder and arm was bound tightly to his side by several white strips of cloth. His arm crossed his stomach and the cloth bandages were tight and clean. When he tried to move, he realized they had completely immobilized his left shoulder and arm.

He tried to sit up and a wave of nausea swept over him. Leaning back into the soft bed, he couldn't hide a small whimper.

Anthony stirred, and noticed Neal was awake. "Jean Paul!" He said enthusiastically, but then his enthusiasm turned to concern when Neal didn't turn to look at him. "Are you all right?"

Neal swallowed and risked opening his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Where am I?"

"We're in Father's home. We're in a 'secret' room, so we don't have to worry about any unwanted visitors."

Neal glanced around, trying to remember everything that had happened. "He finally replied, "I don't remember this room."

"You wouldn't. Father moved a couple of years ago; in fact, we're not even in New York." Anthony reached down and grabbed a cup of water. He placed a hand behind Neal's back and slowly lraised him into a sitting position. "Annabelle wants you to drink lots of water. She doesn't want to do an I.V. unless we have to. We're trying to keep this as natural as possible."

Terribly thirsty for water, Neal drank the little Anthony provided and asked for more. Anthony handed over some pills, and Neal swallowed them to get the second cup. When he finished, Anthony helped him lay back down where he closed his eyes, feeling tired and used up.

"What were those drugs?" Neal finally asked. If they chose to poison him, he didn't really care anymore.

"Just some painkillers. Annabelle doesn't want you on anything stronger unless she's around." Anthony replied.

The dizziness came back and without the stinging pain Neal felt himself slide into darkness once again.

…..

"Where is he." Peter pounded on the table in front of Rolando, trying to scare him into giving an answer.

"I've told you many times already, _I don't know_." Rolando intertwined his fingers and leaned back with his frustrating, superior air. "I'd like to know as much as you do. If my son's been kidnapped, I believe I have the right to worry more than you do."

Peter's hands were shaking, they'd been at this for a while now and all he got from Rolando Rinolli was that he hadn't seen "Jean Paul" since they all met at Anthony Rinolli's house. Rolando admitted to seeing Neal the night before at their dinner party, but nothing had happened so Peter couldn't do a thing about it.

"Where's Anthony Rinolli?" Peter finally asked. They had seen Rolando and Annabelle, but they hadn't seen Anthony because "he was on a trip."

"My other son is at my residence in Canada. I asked him to take care of my plants, they need watering every couple of days." Rolando looked at the time. "I believe the FBI's free hour of questioning is up. I've been cooperative, and now I'll ask you to show me a warrant."

Rolando stood up and walked to the door. "Agent Burke, I expect to see my daughter in five minutes. If you wish to speak to Anthony, I'll send him back to New York tonight, but after that I want you to leave my family alone."

A few minutes after Rolando left, Hughes walked in. "I'm sorry that didn't go as well as we liked. The judge is signing a warrant on Anthony Rinolli's home, but if he's actually in Canada, we have problems."

"Have you contacted the Canadians? If that's where Anthony Rinolli is, that's also where Neal Caffrey will be. I don't think they'll leave him alone; at least, I hope they won't." Peter sighed and rubbed his forehead, careful to avoid his injured temple.

"We've contacted them, and they're being very cooperative, but there's only so much they can do, Peter." Hughes replied. Together, they walked out of the interrogation room. "All we know is that somebody took Neal away from the scene of a crime, because I heard that over the phone. That's not much to go off of, since there were no signs of a struggle and he sounded willing to leave over the phone."

"That's a product of being shot." Peter growled. "He wasn't thinking clearly, and now we don't know how bad his injury is. We can't even help him."

Hughes shook his head sadly, it had been a long couple of days, and it didn't seem to be getting better. "I know. You know what's frustrating? They're almost admitting to having him. I offered to have the paintings sent over, and Rolando said they 'didn't need them anymore.'"

"I thought hints count as evidence?" Peter remarked, hope lighting is face.

"That's what Jones told Rolando. But Rolando said they didn't need the paintings anymore because they found the connection between Neal and Jean Paul already, and they don't believe the paintings will help anymore." Hughes rolled his eyes. "I think we'll get the Canadian warrant pretty soon. Meanwhile, let's follow the Rinolli's as far as we can."

…..

Neal woke up to some noise. The door to his room was opening, and Anthony sat up a little straighter. When Rolando and Annabelle walked in, Anthony sighed in relief. "Father, how did it go?"

"Fine. That Agent Jones is a real messed up guy, though. He's the worst interrogator I've met." Rolando smiled at Annabelle, and she grimaced. "I expect that's who you'll have as well, Anthony."

"They want me to come in?" Anthony asked, already knowing the answer and counting on it.

"That's right. I can see a 'political scandal conspiracy' coming up, that's what I'm going to make this all about. When they realize I'll alert the public to their harassment, they should back off." Rolando replied, before turning back to Neal. "Good afternoon, Jean Paul. I hope you're doing well."

Annabelle moved forward and began checking Neal's bandages. Without taking off the bindings around his arm, she pulled back the bandage covering the wound and inspected it professionally. Neal tried to ignore the prodding, and looked at Rolando, "Did they say anything about Peter Burke?"

Neal tried to ask casually, but the fear in his voice betrayed him. Rolando looked back at Annabelle and Anthony, who both looked away from Neal. "Jean Paul. He died, I'm sorry for your loss."

Neal felt like he was being choked, He turned his face away from Annabelle and tried to hold back the tears that burned his eyes. The tight room seemed to stifle him, and he could barely hear Annabelle talking to Rolando.

"He's got a mild infection." She said. "Its the one thing I was afraid of. The wound itself isn't dangerous, but without the proper equipment I can't do anything more. It'll look suspicious if I take anything from the hospital."

"You'll take a few days off work, tell them you're searching for your missing brother. Don't take any supplies if its suspicious, but do what you can." Neal heard the door open. "Call me if you need anything, I want to be on the alert."

After Rolando left, Neal felt himself being handled by Anthony and Annabelle as they cleaned the wound. The room still stifled him, and he let out a small gasp every time he thought of his dead partner. He wanted to be there for Elizabeth, since god only knew how she must be taking this, and he wanted to be there for the rest of the FBI.

But he also wanted to mourn for himself. When Kate died, Peter was there for him. He was always an anchor, holding Neal to the real world when all Neal wanted to do was run away from it. Peter stood by Neal when Neal first entered the FBI headquarters, broken from Kate's death, and nearly became a workaholic.

"Let me be alone with him for a few minutes." Neal heard Anthony say, and he heard Annabelle leave the room again. "Hey, baby brother, don't be sad."

Neal felt himself being lifted into his brother's arms and he grasped Anthony's sleeve in his good hand. He needed somebody, anybody, right now and he didn't care who it was. Anthony held him while he sobbed into his shoulder. He murmured, "it'll be okay, Jean Paul, it'll be okay. It just takes time."

The hole in Neal's heart wasn't agreeing, but Neal's brain told him it was true. Given time, Peter would slowly turn into a painful memory. And over more time, the memory would become a happy one.

…....

"The Canadians are signing off on a warrant." Hughes announced. "Rolando Rinolli is an American citizen and they agree that if the crime took place on American soil, they'll use our standards for bringing in the criminals. Their only request is that they get to try the Rinollis in their country first if they discover something in the search."

White Collar division sat with the Kidnapping and Missing Persons Division in the conference room. Kimberly Rice was seated quietly in the back, because every time she tried to comment on Neal Caffrey, Peter snapped at her. It wasn't that she was being rude, or saying anything untrue, but Peter didn't want to hear anything from her.

Peter looked up at Hughes, "Are they willing to let us go on the search through the house?"

"No. Of course not, Agent Burke, you _know_ that." Hughes had sent a request in, anyways, but it wasn't procedure and they all knew it.

"They won't be able to find him." Peter scowled.

"He's not the one running this time, Agent Burke, and so they have as good of a shot at finding him as you are. Their law enforcement is not inept at what they do." Hughes commented. Peter had a strange notion that if he couldn't find Neal Caffrey, nobody could. Whether or not Neal was actually running.

"What are they doing here?" Peter motioned to Kimberly rice and her colleagues.

"This is their area, Burke, and you need to respect that." Hughes raised his eyebrows at Peter, warning him to back down.

The last couple of days didn't go well and tempers were high; except for the news on the warrant they only heard rumors of Neal's disappearance. Anthony Rinolli's interrogation went nowhere, and he had left remarking on how Jean Paul may have believed Peter was dead, and just 'ran away' because of it.

When Peter realized Neal might actually believe he was dead, he shuddered. He remembered how Neal became after Kate's death, and he hoped 'his own death' wouldn't have the same effect.

…...

The next day, Anthony relieved Annabelle from her place by Neal's side and said simply, "They're coming, we need to keep him quiet."

"I need to work on the infection, Anthony. And we can't make him sleep, not if we can't monitor him." Annabelle replied, her education making her stubborn.

"Hopefully it won't be long, then. I'm going to keep him quiet, you stay with Father." Annabelle gave Anthony some instructions and then left, leaving Anthony with Neal.

"How are you doing?" Anthony asked casually. "Annabelle says you're fighting the infection pretty well, but you have a fever."

Neal ignore the inquiry. "What's going on?"

"The house is going to be searched. We shouldn't have to worry about them finding you, this room is too small and too hidden for them to look around here."

Neal knew that was true, because he had seen the other side of the door several times already, on bathroom breaks. The room was situated just so that the walls looked a little thicker, but not thick enough to have a hidden room. There was no real door on the other side, either. It was up against the corner of the dining room, with a table pressed against it. When the table rotated, the door opened. It was the oddest arrangement Neal had ever seen, but it worked wonders on hiding the room.

They talked for a few minutes about politics, it seemed Anthony planned to run for senate in the next election. He had been serving as an ambassador in China for the last several years, and now he was trying his hand in the political setting.

About half way through the conversation, Anthony heard his phone beep and he looked at it for a few seconds. He turned to Neal, "I'm sorry about this Jean Paul, but we got to make sure you stay quiet."

Anthony pulled Neal to him and Neal started fighting hard. His good arm was pinned across his stomach and a hand covered his mouth. When he tried to kick out, he felt his body forced off the be and to the ground, Anthony's heavy body pinning him completely.

When Neal heard the police searching nearby, he could do nothing but wait and pray. They were close enough Neal could hear their voices but he couldn't do a thing. Tears of frustration burned his eyes as the minutes ticked past, and their voices faded.

It was a very long hour.

….

**A/N**: Don't worry, this doesn't get dragged out for too long. Hope you all enjoyed it enough to review! Thanks for your support and advice.


	10. Escape

"They found nothing." Peter's lips tightened when Hughes gave him the news. "Those incompetent....foolish....._Canadians_. There's no way they could have found nothing at all. There must have been something in the garbage, or left in a hall, or _something._"

"I'm sure they are perfectly competent, Agent Burke. Either the family doesn't have him and we're after the wrong people," Hughes sighed, "or they're too good to make mistakes. We haven't considered the first route yet, and we should because Neal has a history of this happening."

Peter kicked a chair and watched it hit the wall. It crashed loudly and, a little satisfied, Peter turned back to Hughes. "If we do that, if we leave Neal to look somewhere else, they'll win."

"There's nothing more we can do, Agent Burke, the warrant doesn't last forever. The judge pushed the probable cause theory once, next time we need some hard evidence." Hughes tried to get Peter to see reason. "I know its difficult, but only because its personal. You know this is the way it has to be."

Peter stormed out of the office, anger controlling his actions. Hughes looked at the whiteboard. Neal's cartoon picture of the White Collar Division agents still hung from the top of the whiteboard. Hughes looked at it closely, and frowned when he saw six agents.

Neal had done a remarkable job on everybody, but Hughes found himself despising the picture because Neal left himself out of it. Hughes made a mental note to force Neal into redoing the picture when he made it home.

…...

Anthony didn't release Neal until the door opened and Rolando walked in. "It's over. They won't be allowed to come back unless they have more proof. I've already filed a complaint with the government, so they'll be giving up soon."

Anthony helped Neal off the ground and set him back in bed. All hope died from Neal, and he couldn't lift his head to look at Rolando. Neal knew that Peter wouldn't have stopped looking for him, and he knew Peter would have eventually found him, but now there was no point.

With Peter gone, Neal was on his own. He needed to get out of this mess without depending on the FBI. Fighting back the ache in his chest, Neal finally found the strength to look at Rolando. "What do you want?"

"To start?" Rolando smiled, already enjoying the situation. "I want you to show me proper respect. You may address me as 'Father,' and you will answer to your given name, Jean Paul."

"I don't...." Neal paused, just knowing he was in a hopeless situation made everything feel so much worse. "I'm asking about long term. What could you possibly want with me? I can never show myself in public as one of you."

Rolando paused, looking at Neal closely. "Technically, things could not have gone better, Jean Paul. With your wound, the fact that you killed somebody, and you're history of criminal behavior, the FBI will accept your reasoning for running away."

"Running away?" A cold knot formed in Neal's stomach and he looked at Anthony for help. He was watching Neal too and he gave Neal an easy smile.

"Yes. You were frightened and, while it was clearly self-defense, you were afraid of the penalty the government would impose on you. They gave you the maximum sentence for bond forgery, so you have a reason to be frightened. Because of your injury, you weren't thinking clearly." Rolando sat down on the bed, next to Neal. "They don't question victims, Jean Paul."

"So I ran away." Neal tried to hide the disgusted look from his face. The worst part of it was that he could see it actually happening. After Kate died, he came close to running several times. Peter kept hm back, protected him from the suspicious looks, and became a best friend and role model. If Neal hadn't been picked up by the thug (he finally recognized the man from the dinner the night before the incident), he could actually visualize himself running away.

If he could see himself doing that, why wouldn't they?

"That's right. But you'll come back. And when they release you, you'll choose to join your family, the way it always should have been." Rolando stood up, "Annabelle will be here in a few minutes, she left while they were searching the house because she wanted to check in at work. It was a good opportunity for her."

Rolando walked out, not answering Neal's real question.

…..

A week had passed, and Hughes finally had to release the case to the Kidnapping and Missing Persons Division. The FBI couldn't afford to devote so many resources to finding one consultant.

Every time Peter walked past Neal's desk, he felt the urge to throw something. Nobody dared touch Neal's desk and it was left gathering dust. One early morning before work, Peter sat behind Neal's desk, looked at the sticky notes Neal had left around the computer, and stared vacantly toward the elevator, hoping Neal would walk in.

…..

"Any chance of getting fresh air today, Anthony?" Neal asked, coming out of the bathroom after taking a short bath.

Anthony stood outside the bathroom, waiting for Neal to finish so he could take him back to his small room. Anthony had brought in a television, several books, and even cards but they were both going a little stir crazy.

Rolando came in for a few hours every day, and Annabelle checked up on his infection consistently, but only Anthony took on the constant babysitting challenge. They were both fine with the arrangement, or as fine as Neal could be about the situation generally, and they kept each other good company.

"I've spoken with Father about it, and he says you can go outside when you start acting your age." Anthony replied, "Annabelle suggests you don't go until the infection is clear, but you know that already."

Neal resisted touching his black eye and rolled his eyes instead. Rolando and Neal did _not_ get along well, at all. After their third shouting match, Rolando took a swing at Neal and then slammed the door behind him.

"I have no reason to do so."

"No reason to act your age?" Anthony teased, nudging Neal gently, but he knew what Neal really meant. "He is your father, and you are Jean Paul to all of us, it can't be that difficult to accept it."

"Ha." Neal replied. "I feel like I'm in a Star Wars movie."

Neal's voice lowered distinctly. "Neal...he is your father....You know it to be true."

"Even he admitted to it." Anthony pointed out, smiling broadly. After finding out Neal had never seen such a nerdy movie like Star Wars three nights before, Anthony made Neal watch the three old movies. Neal had fallen asleep during the third, but Anthony felt successful in 'educating' is little brother.

"Yuck." Neal replied. "You want to sneak out?"

"You want to run. You know my thoughts on that." Anthony threatened. It was the one issue they didn't joke about. Neal couldn't understand why Anthony refused to help him, since Anthony sided with Neal on everything else. But Anthony and Annabelle never disobeyed Rolando, and Neal knew their relationship could never work because of it.

Annabelle relieved Anthony two hours later. After changing the bandage on his wound, and checking his temperature, she leaned back in the extra chair and pulled out a book.

"How's it looking?" Neal asked, trying to make conversation. Anthony had only brought in books on politics and Chinese culture, neither of which interested Neal. And Neal was ready for his plan. It wouldn't be the best time to instigate it, with his arm still useless, but he couldn't handle the wait any longer.

"You're fever is too high, and the infection hasn't changed." She replied, not looking up from her book. She took a long sip from her coffee and crossed her legs. "You need to sleep, Jean Paul, not make yourself worse by fighting useless battles."

Unlike Anthony, she did not joke about disobeying her father. Annabelle had done that too many times, and suffered the consequences because of it.

"You've changed the most." Neal remarked, leaning against the wall. "I guess that's what happens when you can't live your own life, huh? At least Anthony had a few years in China to get away. You've been under Rolando's thumb the entire time."

"Go to sleep, Jean Paul, or I will help you." Annabelle looked up from her book and looked meaningfully at her bag. One call to Anthony, and Neal knew he'd be spending the rest of the night in a drug-induced slumber. That wasn't a feeling he enjoyed.

"Fair enough." Neal looked at the door hesitantly, "Any chance I can get a drink? I'm feeling a little dry."

As a doctor, Annabelle had constantly worried about Neal's hydration. She didn't want to use an I.V., and because of that she always kept a wary eye on Neal's food and water intake. Because he had a fever, she made him drink more water than he normally would have.

She stood up. "I'll get you a drink."

When she walked out the door and shut it behind her, Neal heard the click as the miniature deadbolt snapped the door in place. Neal was an escape-artist, but the door-lock didn't extend to Neal's room and he couldn't pick through nothing.

But Neal _was _an escape artist, and picking locks was only the easiest way to escape. In a situation like Neal's it wasn't always the best way, because he'd risk getting caught by Annabelle on the way out. All she'd have to do was raise the alarm.

So instead of trying the door, Neal immediately went to Annabelle's bag of supplies. Opening it up, he found the tranquilizer they had used on him a few nights before, after his second shouting match with his father. He'd been hit a few times by Rolando, and Annabelle had decided it had gone too far.

But Neal didn't know if a tranquilizer would work in her drink. It had been injected into him, so he didn't know what would happen if she took it orally. He rummaged through her bag quickly, remembering that it took an average of five minutes for her to grab a drink from the kitchen.

He found it. Many years before, Neal had found himself drugged one night after dinner with his mark. In a twist of events, Neal realized the lady had fooled him into becoming the mark. After she teased him mercilessly, he and Alex became best friends and worked together often.

That's how he knew Oraqiz by its name. Commonly used by dentists, it was a recent breakthrough in the medical field. It worked incredibly fast, and only lasted a few minutes. It was all the time Neal Caffrey needed to escape.

He emptied two pouches into her coffee cup and prayed she'd drink it slowly. He needed her to drink enough of the drug before passing out, giving him the maximum time to escape, but he didn't want to overdose her.

He wouldn't be using this technique at all if it hadn't been for her drugging him first. This type of thing just wasn't his style, but he was also desperate.

He put the lid back on her coffee, zipped the bag shut, and laid back in bed with minutes to spare. She finally made it inside and handed him the glass.

"What's Anthony doing?" Neal asked casually, taking a long drink from his cup. He hadn't lied, he really was thirsty.

"He's making some phone calls." Annabelle picked up her book again and began to read.

"How about Rolando?" Neal asked after a minute. Right on cue, she leaned over and took a long sip from her coffee. Neal had noticed pretty early on that when Annabelle got annoyed, she drank more coffee. He tried another tactic, "Never mind, hopefully he's been hit by a car."

Annabelle glanced at the door before turning to Neal, setting down her coffee. "Be careful, Jean Paul. If you want to stay in one piece you'll learn obedience."

She looked at the door again in confusion, stood up as though wanting to check something out, and then collapsed.

"Obedience? You've really changed, Annabelle." Neal muttered as he got out of bed. He stepped over Annabelle and walked out the door.

….

He moved the rotating table back into place so the door was closed before he left the dining room. He'd passed the main entrance several times, but he wanted to find a back entrance to make his escape. He passed the bathroom he'd been using and could hear Anthony at some distance. When Anthony's voice grew louder, Neal ducked into a room and listened.

"We knew it would take longer....we just need more time..."

Anthony walked past the room, and Neal predicted he had five minutes before his disappearance was discovered. If he was caught now, he didn't know what he would do. It was something he preferred not to think about.

A window in the room revealed the backyard and one look outside told Neal he might have to do some traveling to get to the nearest town. He couldn't see very far through the dense trees, and it seemed typical of Rolando to own a house in the middle of nowhere.

But Anthony would be discovering his absence soon, so Neal decided to use the window to get out. He looked around the empty room to find something other than the cotton socks he was wearing, and decided to forget about it when he realized there was nothing usable.

"This is going to be fun." Neal muttered to himself. "I hate the forest, and yet, I'm willingly entering it. Mother Nature, please forgive me for not recycling....ever."

Neal cracked the window open and shimmied outside. The cool air blasted his hot face and he breathed it in greedily. He loved being outside, and the last week nearly killed him. Luckily, the sun was out today and only a mild wind tousled Neal's hair.

Once outside he looked around, the trees were cut back nearly a hundred feet. Until he made it to the forest, he'd be in the plain sight of anybody who casually glanced outside. But that was his option, and so he ran as hard as he could to get to the forest.

His jaw dropped when he made it to the edge of the forest. He thought it looked dense from the house: now it looked tougher to get through then a brick wall. It wasn't the trees that caused the problem. It was all the growth in between them. Bushes and large plants intertwined and Neal shook his head slowly.

Looking around, he noticed the 'wall' surrounded the house until it made it to the paved road. Neal didn't dare stay on the road, though, because that would be a sure way of getting caught. Another glance told Neal he didn't have time to search for the garage, find a car, and hot wire it before Anthony came out to get him.

"Jean Paul!" Neal's stomach sunk when he heard Anthony call out to him. "Jean Paul, you idiot! Get back here now."

Anthony had left the house, running to catch up to him, and Neal made his move. With one arm still bound tightly to his side, he reached up with his good arm, grabbed a tree branch, and swung himself inside.

At first he didn't make it very far. And he knew he wasn't strong enough to continue the one-arm pull-ups for very long so he let himself drop into the dense bushes, planning to fight his way through.

They clung to him, snagging his shirt and wrapping around his limbs. With a few hard struggles, Neal broke free and made it a foot before he was caught again. Anthony made it to the edge of the forest, but his first swipe at Neal missed by several inches.

Now Anthony had to get through that first barrier as well, and he decided to use his sheer bulk to fight his way through. "Jean Paul. Don't do this, you don't realize how much trouble you're going to be in, already."

"Then leave me alone, Anthony!" Neal cried back. Even as he moved further away from Anthony, he knew he was also creating an easier path for Anthony to break through. But Anthony's size, for once, hindered him more than helped him. "Don't you see what's going on? This isn't like you. Rolando makes you think you have no other choice but to stay, but you do have the choice! Let me have mine."

While Anthony's bulk slowed him down, Neal's useless arm slowed him nearly as much. His left arm was forced to do most of the struggling, and he could feel it beginning to tire already. He was still sick, he knew that, and he needed to rest.

Neal jumped forward again as Anthony took another swipe. This time Anthony barely snagged Neal's shirt and when Neal jerked back he thought he had been caught. But Anthony's grip wasn't strong enough and Neal broke lose.

"You're a little fool, Jean Paul!" Anthony growled, his temper getting to him. "We have a good thing, here. Are you going to throw it all away? For what? There's nothing left for you _anywhere_. You've lost it all, and none of that is our fault!"

Neal shuddered at the truth. Even if he escaped now, there wasn't a whole lot left for him at home. Of course, there was Mozzie and June, but they didn't compare to the relationship he had with Peter and Kate. They were good friends, but they hadn't become family to him.

Neal shook his head, "Then let me decide on my own, Anthony. Please, just let me go. I won't tell Rolando, or anybody."

Neal turned back to struggle a little farther, but he was finally caught when some brambles caught his cotton shirt and clung too tightly. He closed his eyes and struggled hard when he felt Anthony catch up to him and grab him from the back.

Neal was turned forcefully around and back-handed across the face. Anthony shook him hard and Neal felt his already bruised eye begin to swell again. "You're...a little....fool." Anthony said, shaking him each time.

Neal kicked out and Anthony shoved him to the ground. Anthony put a knee on Neal's chest and slapped him again before tangling his hand in Neal's hair, and forcing his face to the side.

Neal fought hard, and he felt something smooth and hard near his waist. He grabbed at it and found a rock. Digging it out of the dirt with his left arm was awkward, but Anthony didn't notice in all his shouting.

The rock finally broke lose and Neal brought it up to Anthony's head in one fluid motion. The first blow knocked Anthony Rinolli out cold, and Neal felt his brother slump across him.

…..

"I'm going to Canada." Peter announced in Hughes' office. "I"m taking a...vacation....there."

Hughes nodded at Peter, "Do you understand, Agent, that you will lose your job if you go to a foreign country and act in a manner that harms this country's reputation?"

"I understand, sir. I just wish to go on a vacation. I'll be back." Peter turned away.

"When will you be back?" Hughes stopped him with a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"When I've found what I'm looking for." Peter answered solemnly. "I won't stop until then."

…....

**A/N**: So Neal has to do the tough work.... But at least he's on his own for now. See ya'll tomorrow!


	11. Found

Neal slid Anthony Rinolli off him when he was sure his brother wouldn't be moving for a while. He paused for a moment, checking Anthony's pulse, and stifled a soft sob when he realized Anthony was breathing. Out of everybody in his family, he got along the best with his brother, but even Anthony had his problems.

Neal fingered the developing bruises on the right side of his face. While generally a good man, Anthony Rinolli took after his father in one too many ways. When he didn't get something he wanted, he grew angry.

But Anthony only lost his temper occasionally, and for that Neal could forgive him. But Neal was not about to stay around for Annabelle to find him or Rolando to come home. He turned Anthony onto his back and grabbed the cell phone in his jacket.

Opening the phone, the first thing Neal saw was that it was locked. He tried to unlock it and the phone asked for his password. Neal tried every password he could think of, but eventually he knew he wasn't getting anywhere. With a little more equipment, and Mozzie by his side, he could hack it, but he had nothing like that right now.

So he stuffed the phone in his pocket, and set off through the thick trees.

…....

El wanted to come with Peter, but Peter wanted to do this alone. It wasn't that he thought it was dangerous, driving to Canada to find the Rinollis, but he didn't want to worry about another person while he was at it.

It wasn't a long drive, and it calmed his anxiety. Finally, after getting lost twice on the mountain roads, Peter came across the small town he knew to be the closest to the Rinolli home. He stopped at a diner to grab a meal before he planned to drive the next ten miles up the road.

….

Neal groaned when he came across another clearing. He'd been trekking through the forest all day and just wanted to find _something._ All he needed was one working phone, but it seemed he wouldn't be finding that soon.

He stayed along the side of the road while traveling, always keeping one eye on it for safety. He even used it for a few minutes after he saw Rolando driving by a few hours before. But he didn't dare risk using the road more than he had to, for fear Rolando or Annabelle would discover him.

Even now, Rinolli had driven past the road a dozen times, always peering into the forest. Neal was almost glad he was covered in mud from head to foot, it created camouflage.

It hadn't been easy for Neal, hiking through the forest with a swollen face, a useless arm, no shoes on his feet, and now a couple of broken fingers from hitting Anthony across the face with the rock. And of course the fever, he knew now he should have waited for the fever to run its course, but he wasn't turning back now.

He made his trek quickly through the clearing, wincing when the familiar ground water squeezed up his foot. The first time he saw a clearing, he'd been excited about not fighting through the trees. That excitement lasted all of thirty seconds when he tripped in calf-deep swamp water. If things didn't get better, Neal realized he might end up giving himself up to Rolando rather than spend one more hour in this nightmare.

"If anybody could see me now, I'd never live it down." Neal muttered, and he looked down at himself. His socks were soaking wet, and had streaks of grimy plant life going through them. His sweats were just as bad, but they had little snag marks as well. His white shirt was the worst, and one glance at the bandages holding his arm in place told Neal they weren't getting much better.

Quickly he ducked when he saw Rolando's car coming once again. Every time he saw the car drive by, he winced in longing for a smoother transportation. But he knew it couldn't be far now. Rolando came from the opposite direction faster now, and Neal knew the city couldn't be far.

….

Peter was still in the town. He'd seen Rolando Rinolli numerous times now, often talking in his phone with a scowl on his face. Peter sat in his car further away from the edge of the road, as though he were on a surveillance mission. Every time Rolando came back, Peter got a very distinct impression.

Rolando was looking for someone.

Peter smiled, Neal Caffrey could escape anything. But Peter Burke would always be the one to find him.

…....

Neal nearly danced when he saw the first building. He'd made it. He breathed a sigh of relief and pressed his arm against his forehead, wincing as his broken fingers throbbed dully. They were the least of his worries.

He walked a little further, not willing to leave the safety of the trees yet. Not that he considered the forest safe, by any means, he was just more afraid of Rolando. Just a few hundred feet down Neal saw the town, and this time he laughed a little.

The stores were all open and with one quick look both directions, Neal sprinted toward the nearest restaurant. He didn't move fast, but he was certainly moving as fast as he could. In the corner of his eye, he noticed a car pull forward.

…..

"He's here." Annabelle spoke into the phone. "He's moving into that trashy Italian diner. _Marios_, I believe."

"Stay on him. But don't let him see you, I want to speak with him." Rolando replied and turned the car around.

….

Peter leaned forward when Rolando returned. Instead of making a circle, the pattern Rolando had relied on before, Rolando drove right through the town and parked at a gas station. Peter then watched as Rolando jumped out of his car and began jogging down the street. Peter hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, but he suspected Rolando had.

So Peter drove slowly until he saw Rolando enter a restaurant. He parked and began to follow.

…..

The hostess widened her eyes when she saw Neal Caffrey run into the restaurant. Neal grimaced at the looks he got from the few other visitors of the place. He knew only too well what he looked like. If he didn't know otherwise, he would have thought he escaped from a haunted insane asylum.

"Good evening, sir." The hostess began, beckoning to a waiter. She seemed a little frightened of his appearance.

"Please," Neal began quickly, but quietly. "I need you to call the police. Somebody's following me, and they might have seen me come here."

The hostess looked a little frightened at that. She looked behind him and her face tensed. Neal tensed as well when he heard the bell ring as the door opened again.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle." Neal closed his eyes when a hand rested on his back. "My client recently had a traumatic experience, and it created a sense of paranoia. Come along, Alexander."

Neal looked into Rolando's eyes and frowned. Of course, Rolando would call him by 'Alexander' when he knew law enforcement was probably looking for a Jean Paul or Neal Caffrey. Rolando's eyes were dark, and his hand was very strong. Rolando's other hand twitched and Neal noticed it move toward his belt, where Neal suspected a gun.

"Miss Garner," Neal began, looking at the waitress' name tag. "Please, call the police."

"Yes, please do that." Rolando agreed, turning his own charming smile on. Neal grimaced when he remembered his family's uncanny ability to lie persuasively. Right now, Neal looked about has unpersuasive as he possibly could. He didn't even bother to smile, it would only look worse. Rolando continued, "I'm going to take him back to the hospital, though, so he doesn't disturb your guests."

Rolando's grip tightened and Neal felt himself pulled roughly away. Neal looked at Rolando, who had death written in his eyes, and decided to struggle rather than be killed and dumped in the forest somewhere. Just as Rolando grabbed his other arm and shook him hard, the door to the restaurant opened again.

"Hands in the air!"

In shock, Neal fell slightly limp when he heard the familiar voice behind him. Rolando pulled him roughly around and placed a gun against his head, a hand tightening around his throat.

Finally, Neal could see Peter. Peter stood with a police officer next to him; they both carried guns and had them pointed at Rolando. Shock filled Neal and he found a renewed strength to fight. He felt the gun leave his head and saw stars when Rolando hit him on the back of the head with the butt of his gun.

_Bang! Bang!_

Neal felt something splash the back of him and Rolando's grip loosened. Neal lurched forward when Rolando stepped back. Neal turned just as Peter reached him and saw Rolando, with a bullet wound in his own shoulder now, reach up with the gun and aim it at Neal.

"Get down." Peter shoved Neal into the tile floor and covered his body.

_Bang!_

Neal shivered when he felt Peter's hard weight jerk on top of him. He held perfectly still for nearly thirty seconds after the last shot fired, closing his eyes and wanting it all to end. But soon, he felt Peter shift above him, and a ragged gasp burst from Neal as he felt Peter move away on his own.

"Thank you, officer." Peter said, and Neal got up. The old-looking officer was standing there with the gun still aimed toward them, a shocked look on his face.

"I've been on the force for twenty years, and I've never had to draw my gun." The officer lowered his weapon and looked at Neal. "You okay, sir?"

"Yes, thank you." Neal looked at Rolando and noticed he wasn't moving. His back was facing them, and Neal could see a trickle of blood escaping. "What happened?"

Peter patted Neal on the back. "Officer Gray saw me running to the restaurant. He stopped me and I told him something might be going on here. He gave me permission to enter with him, and he loaned me a gun."

Neal, tired and sore, didn't bother finding a chair. He sat right there on the ground and tried to think through his dazed mind. "He loaned you a gun? Don't you have one?"

Peter looked a little embarrassed. "Maybe not right now. I introduced myself as an FBI agent on vacation and he let it go at that."

Officer Gray walked over to Rolando and leaned over to look at him. "He's dead, I'm going to call in back-up now."

The old officer stood up and faced the few visitors and the hostess. "Excuse me. You all know who I am, and you'll be respecting my authority for as long as I'm on duty. I want you all to stay here and write down everything you saw. Miss Garner will hand you some paper to write on."

He turned to Peter and Neal, "You two will stay here as well. I only took those shots because that gentleman was threatening to kill you two, and I'll want to know why."

When Officer Gray left, Peter reached down and lifted Neal off the floor. Neal gasped as his fingers were clenched and Peter quickly changed his hold. He lifted Neal's good arm over his shoulder and began leading him to a chair. He could feel the too-warm temperature through Neal's thin clothes. "Wow, Neal, you're really hot."

Neal smiled, a little giddy. "Thank you, Peter. I suspected, but it's nice to be told every once and again."

Peter looked at Neal in confusion. When he finally realized what Neal was saying, he had to fight off a smile. "You're too cocky, Caffrey. But I'm glad to have you back."

When Peter made it to the chair, he didn't sit his friend down right away. For a brief moment, he just held him close.

…..

The next day found Neal in the hospital and Peter by his side. The police, after confirming Peter's 'story' with the FBI in New York, decided not to press charges or even file any criminal reports on him. In any other circumstances, Peter would have been suspended for abusing his authority, but since Peter was protecting a situation he saw arise (even though he intentionally put himself in that situation), they let him off.

The fever had taken over Neal soon after the police took him into custody, and Neal had fallen asleep soon after. He'd been sleeping ever since. Peter smoothed back his hair to look at the deep bruises under Neal's eye. His left hand was bandaged and the hospital redid the bandages on his right arm so at least everything was clean.

But Neal looked vulnerable. Every now and then his body would twitch, or he would moan, and Peter didn't know what to do. Even now, the moans were becoming more frequent, as Neal was due to wake up soon.

"No." Neal murmured, and Peter tightened a hand over Neal's wrist, trying to offer comfort. "No."

Peter gently shook Neal, knowing another nightmare was coming on. "Neal, buddy, wake up."

Neal's eyes opened and he jerked back. "Peter?"

"I'm here. You're in the hospital, and everything is okay."

"You…" Neal paused as he tried to remember the recent events. Finally, he looked up into Peter's eyes. "You're here."

"Of course I'm here. I've told you many times, Neal. I'll always find you." Peter said this proudly; glad to have the young CI back in the real world.

But Neal's face screwed up in agony for a second, just before he breathed in and let his mask fall into place. Peter saw Neal trying to hide something and leaned forward. "Tell me."

"I….I thought you were dead." Neal choked, and raised his bandaged hand to his eyes. He didn't want to cry in front of Peter, but too many emotions were flooding his mind right then, and most of them were utter sorrow. "And I've killed someone, Peter. And I drugged Annabelle, and I hit Anthony, and Rolando is dead, and everywhere I go people are getting hurt or _dying_. And I thought you were _dead._"

"I'm sorry, Neal. I wasn't even hurt." Peter lifted Neal to him and held his partner while he sobbed. It seemed Neal hadn't taken his death better than he had Kate's. "Just get it out, it'll be all right."

"I thought you were dead. But you're not, but I saw the blood, and you weren't moving."

"I was wearing a vest. The blood was yours, Neal. You weren't coherent so you had no reason to know otherwise."

Neal laughed through his sobs, feeling torn into a hundred little pieces. Peter let him go when Neal stopped shaking and allowed Neal the time to compose himself. "When are we going home?"

Peter smiled. "Soon, I promise."

….

A week later, Neal was released from the New York hospital and sent home to the Burkes. It was a temporary arrangement while Neal got over his nightmares, but one they were all glad to have.

Anthony and Annabelle Rinolli were caught and being held on trial in Canada, and it was expected that they would be transferred to America for a final sentencing. Peter kept Neal from most of this, and Neal chose to focus on new case work anyways, but things were going well.

"You all right?" Peter asked Neal during lunch one day, as they walked to the park.

"I'm not sure." Neal mumbled, before looking at Peter with a quick smile. "I'm feeling a little _hot_."

……

**A/N:** Well, I only have the epilogue let. I hope you've enjoyed this story. Personally, I really like the epilogue. It's more fun than this. Thanks for reading!

P.S. This chapter was inspired by the band _Futsetta_ (Their YouTube videos are a little hard to understand, but the idea behind it is the same.).

I'll see you all soon with the last update.


	12. Epilogue

Agent Peter Burke sat behind his desk, groaning at the file in front of him. It had been two weeks since Neal returned to the FBI, and things around the office just hadn't been the same. Neal acted the same to the people who didn't know him, and agents in other divisions said it was nice to have the good old Neal back, but it was different in the White Collar Division, and everybody in the division knew that.

Peter glanced at his watch, it was two in the afternoon and Neal should have been back several hours ago. Looking outside the office, Peter couldn't see any sign of his partner's return.

"He's coming back." Agent Hughes gruffly said in the conference room next door. He had been noticing Peter's distractions for the last hour. "Calm down, Agent Burke, you're setting a bad example for the interns."

"He said he'd be here at ten this morning." Peter replied. "We're supposed to go to the hospital at three today to get that semi-permanent cast off him. He's been complaining about it all week, and if he misses his appointment...it'll be his own fault."

"I haven't heard him complain at all."

"Not out loud." Peter answered. "But I know it's driving him nuts. And he told me yesterday that it was coming off today whether or not the doctors said it was time."

Hughes smiled, and decided not to mention the difference between complaining and being stubborn about when an annoying cast would come off. "Well you're right, if he misses the appointment he'll just have to leave it on for an extra day."

Peter smiled at the thought, and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know why he wants to visit his brother anyway. If it weren't for his Anthony Rinolli kidnapping him, nobody would have to visit anybody in prison."

Anthony Rinolli was scheduled for a final sentencing in a month. Neal had decided to visit Anthony whenever he could while Anthony waited in prison, and this irked Peter like nothing else. When Peter asked Neal why he felt obligated to visit the brother who had betrayed him numerous times, Neal refused to give him a proper answer.

Now Peter was both frustrated and nervous. He couldn't help but be frustrated that Neal was late for the very appointment that he so obviously looked forward to for the last two weeks. To be honest, Peter was nervous for the very same reason.

Hughes nodded to Peter as he left the office, hiding a little smile as he walked down the stairs.

….

An odd-looking man moved into the elevator with Agent Lauren Cruz. He smiled at her and wagged his eyebrows as she waited for the elevator doors to close.

"Hello, dear." the rugged man smiled at her and she noticed a gap in his teeth. "Which floor are you going to?"

"White Collar Division." Cruz stated, and she hit the button before he could get to it. He stepped back and ran a hand through hair that seemed to stick up in every direction.

"Oh my! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy." The man clapped his hands excitedly and nudged Cruz on the shoulder. "That's where I'm going!"

"Nothing to be so excited about." Lauren mumbled, and moved away from the strange man slowly. She glanced at him quickly, not wanting to look at him for too long. His large brown eyes seemed to watch her without ever blinking. "Why are you going to White Collar?"

"There was a theft in my house. My prized collection of Annie Horibis paintings has been stolen." The strange man exclaimed loudly, and Lauren winced. His voice was a little too high when he got excited.

She glanced at the strange man's ill-fitting suit. The suit looked as though it would have been nice on the hanger, being a black, pinstriped suit with glossy buttons. But the pants were too short on the thin man and the man's bright white socks were shining through in the most horrible fashion.

"Who is Annie Horibis? I'm not familiar with that name." Lauren asked, trying to be nice. The elevator doors dinged and the man followed her out with one of the most embarrassing walks Lauren had ever seen.

"My daughter." The man gave Lauren a huge grin and she had to look away again. "She's an amazing artist."

"Really?" Lauren asked, trying to be polite. She looked around, and sat in the desk next to Agent Jones. Without batting an eye, the man plopped himself right on the edge of Jones' desk. "Does she have a gallery? Or something we might be able to look at?"

"I think her third grade teacher has her most recent painting. My daughter is eight."

Lauren looked to Jones in desperation, and he stifled a grin as he took in the man's scary-weird appearance. "I don't know if you're at the right place, sir. This sounds like something you should take to the police...if anything."

"Excuse me, who is this gentleman?" Hughes came up from behind the odd man and looked at Jones and Cruz with a question in his eye.

"A civilian." Lauren answered.

"I'm sorry, sir, but civilians must have special permission to be on this floor." Hughes reached out and touched the man's too-large jacket, just before taking a second glance.

"Caffrey?" Hughes asked, shock and confusion spreading across his face.

Both Jones and Cruz jerked back when Neal Caffrey smiled widely. "How did you figure it out so fast?"

"You're wearing that pinstriped suit you had on last week. I'd recognize that fashion anywhere." Hughes shook his head as Neal dropped the stretched-out look he had forced his face into and smiled at Lauren and Jones again.

"Wow, Agent Hughes, I'm glad I never went up against you." Neal said easily. It was easily for Neal to tell the truth when he was impressed, even when it hurt his own dignity.

"That's not the same suit." Jones said as he frowned at Neal, a smile starting to tug at his own lips. "There is no way."

"He pinned it up." Hughes interjected before Neal could respond, looking the suit up and down. "And you let the shoulders out, didn't you?"

"Good eye." Neal nodded. "June's husband was actually much larger than me, so I had to tailor the clothes originally. It's wasn't difficult to sew it so I could let it out and pull it in whenever I wanted to."

"And your sling?" Hughes lost the smile as he noticed Neal go pale. There was going to be trouble, he could feel it.

"Um...Never mind." Neal answered. He smiled suddenly, "I want to tease Peter a little bit. If you don't mind, I'm going upstairs."

"I'll tell him you're the new client he's going to be working with." Hughes chuckled. He'd let Peter handle any difficulties with Neal Caffrey. Right now, he wanted to see what Neal had in store for his senior partner.

….

Peter twiddled the pencil in his fingers, and glanced at his watch again. The doctor appointment was in half an hour, and he still hadn't seen Neal. He'd seen Cruz, Jones, and Hughes talking to a strange man who had wobbled in with Cruz earlier, but still no sign of Caffrey.

"Agent Burke." Hughes knocked on the glass door and Peter looked up. The incredibly odd-looking man was standing next to Hughes, shoulders slouching forward slightly. "This man has been robbed. I believe you'll be working with him directly on his case for a while."

"Oh, Agent Peter Burke! What an honor! Golly, what an honor." The man's voice faded into a whisper as he said this, and he wobbled forward to shake Peter's hand in awe.

"Excuse me." Peter politely said and gently tugged his hand away from the man when the man held it for too long. "Do we know each other? I recognize you from somewhere."

Hughes tried to hide his disappointment when he thought Neal had been discovered so soon. He really looked forward to this moment when he realized what Neal was planned to do. He knew it would be the highlight of the year to watch Peter Burke get a friendly con pulled on him by his partner. If nothing else, it would teach him caution.

"We do! We really do!" Neal exclaimed, rocking on his heals and toes in fast moments. Hughes frowned when he realized that Neal was still playing the game. "We met...oh...a little over five years ago!"

"I'm trying to remember." Peter looked up at the ceiling. "In an elevator?"

Neal nodded, exaggerating the motions to make everything look incredibly awkward...just as he had first done so long ago. "You gave me your card, and said if I ever had anything valuable stolen, I should come to the FBI."

Neal pulled out an old, rumpled card and put it on the table in front of Peter. Hughes choked on laughter, and quickly left the room as he realized that Neal and Peter had met much earlier than Peter ever realized.

"I remember that. Didn't you have an eight-year-old daughter's paintings stolen?" The memories came fast for Peter when he put everything together. He barely noticed Hughes' hasty departure. "You're back?"

"Just for you. I'm so excited to be working together." Neal grinned, and then twisted his grin into a drawn-out sob. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm having such a hard time."

"Hmm." Peter answered, becoming very nervous. He didn't like it when men cried. "You know, I think you'll work very well with my partner. He'll probably be working with you most of the time."

"Uggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh." Peter looked back up in shock as the man in front of him crossed his eyes and stretched out a half-moan for longer than any normal person should. He took a long, hard look at the strange man, trying to figure him out before anything else happened.

When the man saw Peter looking at him in utter disbelief, a very familiar grin spread across his face. "I can't believe you'd do that to me."

Peter's mouth dropped open and he heard loud laughter in the conference room. Hughes, Cruz, and Jones stood outside the door, laughing at Peter's shocked face.

"_Neal_?" Peter asked, shock evident in his voice. "What...how...you _little_..."

Neal sat down in front of Peter, relaxing his face again and pulling a hand through his hair. He straightened it out and leaned in the chair, arms folding behind his head.

"_Why is your arm not in a sling?_" Peter's harsh voice broke through Neal's nods to the other agents and the pale look came back.

"I was sort of hoping to distract you from that a little longer...I took it off."

"You did what?" Peter looked at Neal's arm, and noticed how it hung a little lower than the left when he leaned forward.

"I took it off. I told you it was coming off today no matter what. I figured, why go to a doctor if I already know how it's going to turn out?" Neal gave a weak smile. "It wasn't difficult, I had to use a few tools, and it took longer than I expected, but now we don't have to go to the hospital. I figure it's a win-win."

"You took it off because you knew the doctor would recommend you keep it on for longer. And you knew I'd make you keep it on if the doctor recommended it." Peter stated, knowing the truth behind Neal's actions. "Did your brother have anything to do with this?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to make amends with Anthony. He's a good guy, and he would be a good brother if it wasn't for all the other influences. When he gets out of prison, I know he's going to leave me alone if I do nothing. But if I do something, maybe we'll be even friends."

"Hmm. We're going to have a little discussion on that later." Peter said. He looked at Neal's arm and then shook his head again. "Right now, I'm more concerned with your stupidity."

"I'm surprised you're not concerned with your own." Neal hinted, and Peter narrowed his eyes. "Or are you choosing not to realize how many times we met before you caught me, without you ever knowing?"

"You knew who I was long before I caught you." Peter looked over to the conference room door again. At some point, the other agents had left to give them privacy. Most likely to avoid hearing Peter's wrath at Neal's foolish actions. "You've been in that disguise multiple times, and I never noticed."

"People rarely notice anything when they're in awkward situations. And I always made sure it was an awkward situation for you." Neal unpinned the pants of his suit and let them fall down to the proper length. He then used the pins to tighten the suit jacket so it fit him once more around the shoulders. "Have you ever wondered why so many embarrassing things happened to you the year before you caught me?"

"The rotten fish incident." Peter muttered. "That was you?"

"I plead the fifth."

**A/N: Hey everybody. I hope you enjoyed the conclusion. I may have prolonged the finale for too long of a time, and I hope you'll all forgive me. I made the excuse that the final chapter would be my graduation present to myself, but now I realize I just wanted to prolong the end for as long as I could. I've enjoyed writing it, and I'm sad it's over now.**

**As always, I value your input. Believe it or not, I look forward to critiques more than anything else. This is the only help I get for my own book...which is nearly halfway done! So thanks for everything, and I hope you've enjoyed the journey!**


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